The Twin Statues of Paris
by ElizabethScaffie
Summary: There is a legend that a demon is haunting Notre-Dame, that you can hear him at night if you are unlucky enough. It's probably just a rumour to attract even more tourists, but..what if the legend is true? And what if, equally lonely but less noisy, someone else is in the same position on the other side of the city? Follow our German and Spanish tourists in a mysterious Paris...
1. Prologue

**Please sit back, und ENJOY.**

* * *

There once lived a man whose sole purpose and love in life was sculpting.

His statues were so extraordinary, so full of beauty that if it hadn't been for their blank eyes and their immobility, anyone would have been able to believe they were alive. The man sculpted day and night, first hitting the stones with harsh force, but as he worked his way around the form that was trapped within, the blows got progressively less fierce and gentler, until he levelled the new forms with pumice-stone and caressed them with little wads of hay.

The man could sculpt anything, let it be people, animals, mythological creatures or landscapes, busts, columns or altars; he could sculpt high reliefs as well as low reliefs, static statues that were meant to be seen only from right in front of them, statues that were meant to be disproportioned because they had to be seen from below, statues around which you had to walk to appreciate all the details.

However above all, he loved creating human beings that had to be seen from all angles: especially burly men and beautiful ladies. People were amazed at how he could recreate the impression of such soft skin and tough flesh in marble: the burly man would have rough angled features, contrasting with his rippling muscles; the woman would have the most delicate of faces and the softest of marble skins, in some places lightly covered by light marmoreal veils. Medusa herself wouldn't have been able to create more realistic stone statues with her glare.

Of course, the man's fame reached far and wide, and he received commissions from faraway places. People travelled weeks, even months to have a chance to talk to the great sculptor, and gave great sums of money in exchange for his skills. For these kinds of people the man especially sculpted a lot of religious figures: many saints, holy Mary with sweet eyes and hands, little Jesus sitting in her lap, and even _more_ saints, other than many angels and a few devils or demons.

This man sometimes told his friends, while dining and feasting as they did almost every day, that the stone spoke to him. It _whispered_ to him, and he could see to whom the voice belonged to, trapped inside the block. He simply took the stone in excess away, he freed them. His friends would laugh and tell him to stop saying this nonsense, and drink more instead.

Nonetheless, the man had everything a man could possibly desire: money, wealth, fame, friends and as many women as he could wish for, and as many stones to sculpt as he wanted . There was only one thing he missed: a son, and, especially as he got older, grandchildren to spoil.

That is, until one day, he picked up the chisel and hammer like he always did, and turned to face the newly arrived block of marble. He looked it over with his dark brown eyes, the big white block almost shining in the middle of his workshop. It was the finest of marbles, directly from Carrara, and his favourite. Sure, he could work with almost any material, going from rough stone to metals like bronze and gold, but Carrara's marble would always remain his favourite.

He put both tools he had picked up earlier in one of his hands, and he gently brushed the cold surface with his rough fingers, then leaning his palm onto it. This block... he had received a commission, this block had to be transformed into the image of Moses. He had already ideas in his mind, of the majestic figure sitting in some sort of throne, stroking his long flowing beard with a pensive look in his eyes...

However, that was not what the stone told him.

Strangely enough, no matter how much he concentrated, he couldn't find Moses's form in this block. This was most bizarre, this had never happened. The man frowned, puzzled: Moses simply wasn't _there_.

The stone told him something different entirely. Not one, but two figures had to emerge from the marble. Two young boys.

The sculptor blinked. Two boys, twins in fact, that would be the age of his grandchildren if he had ever had a son. That was what the stone whispered to him, and the sculptor roughly summoned his hand back from the marble's surface. His fist tightened, and then he threw the hammer from his left hand to his right, now brandishing a tool in each fist. A smile curled his lips upwards: he was going to free those two boys from the white marble.

* * *

The man worked for days, weeks, without getting distracted with anything else. Not even his best friend could pry him away from the cold stone. The tall friend came from far away, from over the Alps, where the _Sacrum Imperium Romanum Nationis Germanicae_, or Holy Roman Empire of the Germanc Nation, thrived. The friend ruffled the sculptor's hair, brushing off the abundant white marble dust, revealing dark brown curls, and complained about his obsession with the statues. Also, wasn't he supposed to be working on a statue of Moses?

The sculptor laughed and kindly pushed his friend away, telling he had never been so eager and excited with a work of his. That was saying something. Moses could wait, a couple of weeks wouldn't hurt him.

The friend sighed, knowing that there was no possibility of convincing the sculptor to leave his house until he had finished this work. Before leaving he glanced inside, in the semi-darkness of the dusk he could glimpse two roughly chiselled shapes in the marble, debris and dust covering the ground all around them in a wide circle.

* * *

The master sculptor wiped his sweaty forehead, exhaling deeply.

They were done.

His grandchildren, or how he had imagined them to be, were done.

The statues were twins, and shared the same basement. What distinguished them however was their personality. Yes, their personality, because anyone could see that the twins each had one, and almost complete opposites of each other. While the one to his right had a compassionate face, innocent, gentle and pure, the other to his left was a bit different, as his slightly downcast brows almost formed a small frown, completed by a more cunning air. However, there was an aspect that both shared: the general mischief hovering over their features and in their eyes.

This general image of their personalities had brought the sculptor to slowly change their human forms while sculpting them. In fact, he probably had been affected too much by the religious people and priests continuously asking him to make angels and demons, that... he had transformed each of the twins into one. Once he had understood _that_, he had poured his soul into the making of two angels, his angelic grandchildren, but... the slightly grumpier one just didn't seem to let him do that, the stone complained and groaned every time he hit it to create the feathery wings. So he had relented to its will, and had changed his plans. The stone never complained again after that.

So there he stood, and the last wad of hay fell through his slackened fingers, and into the white dust that constantly covered his workshop.

There they were. His beautiful grandchildren, the most beautiful statues he had ever created, statues in which he had poured his very soul and essence like never before. His prankster gentle angel and his prankster moody demon.

He would never let anyone see them, except for maybe his best friend. He also knew they would never be real, but he loved them as if they were nonetheless.

He closed his eyes, the exhaustion of the work finally taking its toll on him. The last thought he had as he almost literally passed out on his bed was that he needed to clean his workshop out a bit, and more importantly buy another marble block for Moses.

* * *

"It was a warm early summer night of 1507 in the city of _Fiorenza_, when the master sculptor Romulus Vargas completed one of his most famous works, 'The Twins', when he was barely 32 years old. The statue he had been commissioned earlier, 'Moses', was not begun until 1512 and was completed in 1513."  
"Why?"  
"Because Romulus was commissioned to paint a beautiful chapel in Rome by the pope himself, and it took him four years to complete it."  
"...Paint? But he was a sculptor!"  
"Very good observation. Yes, he was a skilful sculptor, however he was a very good painter as well. It's just that he regarded sculpture as the most sublime art, that's why even in his paintings his figures almost look as solid as statues."  
"...So, what happened to the statue of the twins?"

"Sadly, it was lost. Art historians affirm that in the sculptor's will, they had to be buried with him. However, after his death in 1564, they were transported to Germany – the Holy Roman Empire at that time – but after that, it vanished. Pessimists say that they were destroyed, optimists still believe they are hidden somewhere in the lands of Germany, others simply come to terms with the fact that they simply vanished."  
"...Mister guide, how does the legend continue?"

"Ah, that's a very interesting question. Indeed, there was a legend shrouding these statues. You see, Romulus loved these statues so much that he never separated from them, no matter what."  
"Kind of like what Leonardo did with the Mona Lisa?"  
"Almost. You know how big the Mona Lisa is? About this small. Romulus had it much more difficult, try carrying around a couple of full-sized statues, all the way up and down from Italy, because Romulus travelled a lot too. In any case, what I was saying is, he loved these statues so much, that they said he had literally infused them with love. This love, so the legend says, was able to bring the statues to life! But this legend has deeper roots, back to – hear this – Ovid and his _Metamorphoses_. Does anyone know the legend of Pygmalion...?"

* * *

**_Medusa : _**_Mythological monster, described to have an ugly female face and venomous living snakes instead of hair: gazing directly into her eyes would turn the onlooker into stone._

**_Marble of Carrara : _**_ It's a type of white (or blue-grey) marble__ of high quality, popular for use in sculpture and building decor. It is quarried at the city of Carrara, the northernmost tip of modern-day Tuscany, Italy. Many sculptures of the Renaissance, such as Michelangelo's David (1501–04), were carved from Carrara marble: for Michelangelo at least, Carrara marble was valued above all other stone._

**_Sacrum Imperium Romanum Nationis Germanicae : _**_(Latin) The Holy Roman Empire of the Germanic Nation._

_**Fiorenza : **(Medieval Italian) Florence_

_**Romulus Vargas : **I basically took the life of Michelangelo Buonarroti, genius sculptor of the Renaissance, and substituted Romulus's name in it, as well as his character, because Romulus's character and Michelangelo's couldn't be more different. In any case, all the dates that appear are accurate for Michelangelo's life, like his birthdate (6th of March 1475), the painting of the Sistine Chapel (1508-1512), the sculpture of Moses (1512-1513), and his death (18th February 1564). Obviously, the date of 'The Twins' was totally made up by me.  
_

**_Pygmalion : _**__Pygmalion_ is most familiar from Ovid's narrative poem Metamorphoses, in which Pygmalion was a sculptor who fell in love with the statue of a woman he had carved out of ivory. He had called her 'Galatea'. According to Ovid, he was "not interested in women", but his statue was so fair and realistic that he fell in love with it. In time, Aphrodite's festival day came, and Pygmalion made offerings at the altar of Aphrodite. There he quietly wished for a bride who would be "the living likeness of my ivory girl". When he returned home, he kissed his ivory statue, and found that its lips felt warm. He kissed it again, and found that the ivory had lost its hardness. Aphrodite had granted Pygmalion's wish. Pygmalion married the ivory sculpture changed to a woman under Aphrodite's blessing. In Ovid's narrative, they had a son, Paphos, from whom the city's name is derived. In some versions, they also had a daughter, Metharme._

* * *

**Ugh, sorry for the long notes.**

**Hey there everybody! I AM BACK.**

**Kind of. In any case, I survived my exams, yohoo!**

**So, the 'Statue story' won the poll, with a whopping 62% advantage on the other 3 stories! Thanks to all the unique 107 voters, 62 of which voted for this story. Which was actually not the one I actually wanted to write, but oh well! I hope you will like it.**

**First things first, I'm not planning to make it as long as my other stories. I plan on stopping around the 20th chapter this time, or at least that is my intention, hahah. And after that, you'll get another poll, +insert evil laugh here please***

**Also, since the title is obviously 'The twin statues of PARIS', this will take place in the modern-day city of Paris. Which I do not know. I hate not knowing the things I write about, so I already know I'll have to research like an idiot and harass my French neighbour when he comes back from his holidays ^^**

**Last but not least, I have no idea how fast I will update this. Like, no idea at all. No plan. Nothing. It's almost embarassing that I already put up this prologue... So keep that in mind, until further notice. The cause of this 'I don't have any idea when I will update' is because I will move this August, I will leave Italy to study university in the rainy Netherlands. So before that time I will be crazily busy doing all sorts of stuff ._."**

**But still! You know that I love you all, that I love writing stories, that I always try my best to get stuff up whenever I can, and that I never leave a story unfinished. After that is said and done, I'm off! See you all next chapter, whenever it is! **

**Ciao ciao!**


	2. First Impressions

**Please sit back, und ENJOY!**

* * *

**1623**

A small red door creaked open, revealing the silhouette of a man. The door closed, and the shadow plunged among other shadows.

The shadow lit a small oil lamp with trembling hands, before raising it up high. He didn't like this silence, even if a cathedral was supposed to be silent at night. It was quiet. Much too quiet for his tastes.

His soft shuffled steps echoed down the central nave, the delicate yellow light glinting off the almost polished floor. He knew he had heard noises at night, especially around the darkest hours of the night. He had glanced at the big clock in the abbey earlier, and he knew it was well after three in the morning.

One of his long sleeves caught in a non-lit candleholder, and made it rattle. The sheer noise of it scared him out of his wits, and he let out a small gasp. He stabilized the candelabrum, and exhaled.

He looked up at the high ceiling of the cathedral, and then at the marvellous stained-glass windows. During the day they would be full of life in colour, but now they were as black as the moonless night outside, and they just resembled a lot of gaping mouths ready to swallow him. He gulped.

"I shouldn't be here." He whispered to himself. Exactly, he shouldn't be here, this was the hour of demons and witches and Lord knew what else, why was he even heeding that paranoia of his, that his beloved cathedral was haunted, he should just go back with his brothers to the abbey, and catch some sleep before the _Laude_ and the _Prima_...

"_Damn right you shouldn't be here_."

A sudden disgruntled voice broke the silence, making the friar jump and drop the lamp, which clanged loudly on the floor and rolled a few metres away from him, before going out.

He was plunged in darkness again, but he found the nearest column and pressed his shoulders against the cool marmoreal surface of it. The voice didn't really have a clear origin, because it echoed in the ample space, but he knew there was something there.

"Who art thou, what art thee doing in the house of the Lord?" He asked the presence, his voice barely more than a whisper. He did not need to talk louder, the cathedral brought his voice everywhere.

The unknown voice did not reply, but the friar heard a thud of something hitting wood, and then a curse. He closed his eyes, barely tolerating the disembodied presence's swearing in the cathedral. But he knew where the thud had come from, it had been somewhere in the front of the nave. With trembling legs and with his mind asking him why in the Heavens he was doing this, he moved towards the source of the sound.

"_For the first and the last time, I'll ask you nicely. Get out._" The voice said, echoing from somewhere above his head. Instinctively, his face turned upwards, but of course he could not see anything. A shiver ran down his spine, as he wondered why it had come from above. He now didn't have any doubt. He wasn't dealing with a person. His hand went to clutch his rosary.

"What art thou? Come where I can see thee, foul beast! Thou insult the Lord with thy presence here!" His voice's volume rose slightly with every word, and the grip on his rosary got tighter, however his face became paler.

He heard more muttered cursing and profanities, as well as clanging and shattering sounds. The... the _thing_ was toppling and breaking objects on purpose now.

The poor friar was at loss to decide what he should do. So he simply stood there, without even the support of a column, trembling, listening to the thing moving and breaking objects in its path.

With a sudden burst of bravery, he lifted up his right arm, holding the rosary, and held it outstretched in front of him.

"By the power of the Lord, begone!" he proclaimed with the firmest voice he could muster, but even he doubted this would work.

The sounds of breaking objects stopped, and the friar almost believed he had done it. He made the mistake of relaxing, and exhaling softly. However, this calm lasted barely one moment.

Something suddenly jammed the organ's keys randomly, creating the most loud and discordant accord the friar had ever heard, so unpleasant that it literally sounded like an unearthly howl, the mighty organ pipes groaning and trembling with the sheer force of the air. The sound scared the friar out of his wits, and he fled haphazardly, feeling no shame in doing so, wanting to warn his fellow brethren about the demonic presence haunting their beloved Notre Dame.

The demon grinned in satisfaction as it watched the intruder leave. It lifted its clawed hands from the organ keys, letting the grand instrument rest again.

"_The night is mine, at least leave me be in Goddamn peace._"

Of course, there was a bit of a panic in the first few days and weeks, as they searched wildly for the creature. Friars, deacons, priests, even a bishop and a few exorcists inspected the cathedral. However, the demon was never found. The friar who had experienced that horrible night was almost ridiculed because of his too-vivid imagination. In a matter of months, everyone had already forgotten about the incident.

If one was careful enough however, he would hear the thing as it walked around at night, and sometimes it was even possible to hear it talk to itself. Over the centuries, there were obvious telling signs of its presence: claw marks on damaged pews, broken candelabra, slightly cracked bells or sometimes even multiple upturned pews, which created chaos in the central nave. Sometimes, a keen observer would be able to notice scratches on the organ keys. Most people would think it was the priests' fault of not looking after the cathedral with enough love, but as the centuries passed by, the legend was thought to have been forged to attract more devotees or, even later, tourists.

However, everyone kept his or her personal discovery to him or herself, because no one truly believed in the tale of the Demon of Notre Dame.

* * *

**1799**

A man walked through the central nave of his beloved cathedral, holding up an oil lamp. The night was peaceful, starry and silent, albeit a bit cold, being in December, reason why the priest was wearing a long warm scarf.

He was looking for damages in the church. Mainly because of one reason: ever since the X century, almost all the kings of France had been buried here. A frown formed itself on the priest's features, as he remembered the Revolution of ten years earlier. In 1789, the revolutionaries had stormed inside the cathedral and desecrated the royal tombs, throwing all remains into a barbaric mass grave, and only because of sheer luck the funerary monuments had been preserved. The priest shook his head. Even poor, weak-willed Louis XVI had been decapitated in 1793, and his body had not been allowed to stay in the cathedral of Saint Denis. Who knew where his body laid now.

But he was digressing. He wanted to check if any of the remaining, non-removable memorials of the kings had been damaged, something that often happened ever since the Revolution. Some fools would throw vegetables at the too highly-positioned statues or at the gravestones with the kings' names, others would attempt to scratch away some letters, others would simply dirty them by smearing them with unspeakable things.

The priest sighed, heading for the place where once the royals had rested peacefully. Once there, he brought up the lamp, lighting the area a bit, and suddenly he caught himself smiling.

Half of the gravestones were still dirty and grimy with dried-up filth, but the other half had been scrubbed and cleaned. This was even more evident in a particular tombstone, which was barely half wiped of the filth. Obviously, someone had been here and had been trying to clean up, but had been interrupted by his arrival.

He smiled to himself again and closed his eyes. When he reopened them they fell on something that the unknown cleaner had probably left in his hurry to disappear: a dirty piece of cloth, which had undoubtedly been used to clean half a minute earlier, and a ruffled feather. The priest knelt down and picked up the dirty cloth as well as the feather, inspecting the latter in the light of the lamp. It was pure white, a bit ruffled but still beautiful. Still smiling fondly, he stood up again and put it in an inner pocket, mentally thanking the angel that had been watching over his cathedral for quite some time... ever since he had been assigned in this cathedral, actually, and that had been even before the Revolution. And he assumed that he had probably been here even long before that.

"I apologize for interrupting you." He murmured, knowing well that the other would be able to hear his voice perfectly. He turned towards an unlit candelabrum and neatly hung the dirty cloth there, ready to be used again. "I shan't disturb you any further... thank you."

He then left, a feeling of peace and warmth in his heart. As soon as he was almost outside the cathedral, heading for the abbey, he could have sworn he had heard a smiling answer.

"_You're welcome._"

* * *

**Present day**

A man sat alone in a private compartment in a train, his half-lidded eyes gazing over the horizon. It was late, the sun had almost set, so everything had a tint of orange, contrasting with the long, black shadows.

He was tired, he had not slept well that night for unknown reasons, and the lack of sleep was taking its toll on him already. He rubbed his eyes, sighing. The train would probably arrive at its last destination at night time. Why did he even choose a train that would be so late? Why even a train in the first place? It took forever from Madrid to go to freaking Paris, why on earth didn't he choose for a plane? He blinked slowly. Oh, that's right, the ticket would cost less. He wasn't exactly swimming in money.

He shifted in a slightly more comfortable position, or at least as comfortable a train seat could get, leaned his head onto the glass of the window and readied himself to get a nice nap. The last thought he had was an address, specifically the one where one of his best friends worked, right in the heart of the French capital. It had been years, he couldn't wait to see him again.

* * *

"Gilbert, for the last time, please stand up, and go pack your things." A man groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Why should I? I have plenty of time to pack tomorrow morning!" Another man replied, sprawled on a couch with a brown bottle of beer in his hand.

The first man, a tall blond, glanced at his watch. "It's twenty past midnight, and our flight is pretty early tomorrow. You will _not_ be able to make it tomorrow morning!" the man on the couch had opened his mouth to reply something, but the blond stopped him dead on his tracks. "And _don't_ say you're awesome enough to do it. You aren't. I already know what will happen:" the blond started enumerating, "You will drink until two in the morning, pass out on your bed, I will have to wake you up multiple times before you actually _get_ up, you will panic because it's so late and start throwing random things into your suitcase and by then we will already be too late for our plane."

The blond crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at his older brother, who stared back at him, but then decided to give up. With an exasperated sigh, he threw his arms in the air, almost forgetting he had a beer in his hand. "Alright Lutz, you win!" and with that, he stood up, heading for his room.

'Lutz' sighed in relief, feeling glad he had convinced his brother to do something logical for once. The blond often wondered how he, the younger, had turned out to be the one looking out for his older brother.

He sat down at the table and looked over his holiday preparations, which he had made mostly for himself, because Gilbert would probably hang out independently with his friend there. He wasn't remotely planning on just loiter around the city with no clue of where to go: he had listed a clear order of what places he wanted to visit, where and when it would be possible to do so, and had drawn numerous dots on a map with a pencil.

He heard his brother rummage through the incredible amounts of junk he possessed, sometimes muttering to himself. The corners of his mouth curled up slightly, as his eyes wandered up and down the map of Paris.

* * *

**That's all, folks!**

**Sorry for the lame introduction of our main characters, I hope you liked it anyway ^^**

**I'm so happy to see so many people enthusiastic for this story! Old and new fans, I'm getting excited! **

**I'm trying to absorb and learn as much as I can of Paris, and especially of our dear cathedrals. I will not put any note this time, but expect a lot of them in the future. If any French readers see that I f*cked up (I know I will and I know you're there people, I can see you c:) please let me know. Also, I tried my darndnest to make the friar&amp;priest speak a bit of an old-fashioned English (maybe I exaggerated, I don't know! And yes I know they're supposed to be talking old French) I hope I did good with that.**

**In any case! I wish you the best for these remains of summer. See you next chapter!**


	3. Antonio,you should know better than this

**Ciao everybody!**

**I'm so happy to see that so many people are excited for this story!**

**So, it took me... *le gasp* 20 days to write this. Well, I warned you that the first few chapters would not be regular! In any case, I now have moved and live in the Netherlands, I have barely survived a crazy week of partying and knowing tons of new people, plus soon my university will start. You could say I have my hands full, but I still love writing this so here is the chapter :') **

**Let me tell you that because of all the research I'm doing for this(French language, Paris in Google street view, famous Restaurants or Café's, Train stations and of course the cathedrals), I almost know the centre of Paris better than the new city I live in. But that's just me. I hope you appreciate all the time/research I put into this!**

**(As always, I suggest you look at the title. Done? Alright, move on!)**

**Please sit back, und ENJOY!**

* * *

At the third busiest train station of France, Paris-Gare de Lyon, the umpteenth train came to a hissing halt in the night. The passengers left quickly, heading for either the subway, the buses or taxis right outside the massive building, not too far from the Seine.

A tired Spaniard plodded out of the coach, carrying his small trolley with him. He headed for the exit, his mind only picturing a comfortable bed in the Bed &amp; Breakfast he had searched for on the Internet a couple of days earlier. He yawned, a small tear in the corner of his eyes as he closed them. He'd go to Francis the next morning, he didn't want to disturb him at this hour...

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, startling him. He whipped his head around to look at the hand's owner, and was surprised to see his friend standing there.

"_Bonsoir, Antoine! _You didn't really think I wouldn't come and fetch you at the station as soon as you arrived, did you?" Francis smiled at him, chuckling.

Antonio blinked, still surprised at the Parisian's unexpected appearance. "Francis? I thought..."

"...That I'd be already sleeping? Well, I usually would be asleep right now, but I'm making an exception for you. " He winked, his hand leaving his shoulder. "So how are you, how have you been?"

The Spaniard shrugged. "A bit tired, but okay," he weakly smiled. How a stupid thing such as travelling while sitting was able to wear a person out would forever be a mystery for him.

Francis rolled his eyes and slapped his forehead. "Of course, you're probably dead-tired! How silly of me, I'll take you home immediately so you can rest." He said, taking the Spaniard's trolley. "Follow me please," He waved at him, signalling him to follow.

Antonio thanked him tiredly, and in no time they were in Francis's car. The Parisian's home was right above his successful restaurant Macéo, and it wasn't too far away, but Antonio was glad his friend had come with a vehicle. He didn't even want to _think_ about walking with his trolley right now. In the car, the lights of the Parisian night looked beautiful.

"Hey, _Antoine,_" Francis broke the silence at a red light.

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad you're here, after all this time. Oh, and..." He said with a smile, and as the car started driving again, after they turned a corner Antonio's eyes met the sight of the illuminated Palais-Royal. "... Welcome to Paris."

* * *

The next morning, Antonio felt like a living being again, especially after the breakfast he had with Francis. They caught up with each other's lives, each telling their own adventures and misfortunes. Antonio especially couldn't help but laugh at his friend's 'love' stories, which always ended wrong.

"...And after that, she slapped me and left." Francis sighed dramatically. "Love isn't fair, I can tell you that."

"Then why do you keep behaving like this!?" The Spaniard laughed, croissant crumbles framing his mouth.

"Because I love it! Life without love is not worth living!" Francis nodded seriously, but with a small smirk.

Antonio shook his head. Francis always did overuse the word 'love' a lot. "Oh shut up you, you're just an incurable womanizer. Seeing what reputation you have here, I'm surprised women keep falling for you."

"Not only women, you know." Francis added with a sly smirk.

"What! Oh dear, I don't know if I want to know, but tell me..."

After breakfast, Francis told him he had to get to work. He was the owner, but sometimes also manager, interior designer, cook and sommelier of his restaurant, he could basically choose when he wanted to do what. And he even found the time to flirt with women. In any case, he could basically do what he wanted, but apparently there were going to be special guests that day, so he had to be present to oversee everything. "I'm very sorry, but today I really can't be missing..." He said, eyes downcast a bit as he donned his uniform.  
"No problem, I can walk on my own, _mommy_." Antonio snorted, sticking out his tongue.

Francis elbowed him. "Shut up, you know you possess the brain of a child! I'm almost your big brother anyway, so I get worried because you're so much of an airhead!"

"Pfft. Anyway, I kind of already know what I want to visit today, so don't worry _amigo_. I'll be sure to come back this evening, alright?" The Spaniard said, swinging his small backpack, containing the few things he would need that day, on his shoulders.

"Those VIP guests should be gone by eight, so yes. _D'accord!_ Let's have dinner here, it's on the house." Francis nodded, giving him the keys of his home. "See you then, oh and Toni..." he raised his eyebrows at the Spaniard. "...don't get lost."

Antonio groaned and rolled his eyes at the hint. "Oh come on, this story again?! It only happened once!"  
"That is a lie and you know it!"  
"Alright I'm leaving already!"

* * *

The Spaniard spent the whole day sightseeing in Paris. It was a must, for instance, to go see the Eiffel Tower, symbol of France. After that, he had initially planned to go to a museum, but decided he would dedicate the whole day to it; otherwise it would not be worth it, he figured. He instead decided to go visiting various churches, from Sainte-Chapelle to Saint-Denis, from Basilique Sacré-Coeur to L'Église Saint-Germain-des-Prés. He was both satisfied and exhausted by the end f the day, but as he returned to Francis's restaurant, its cuisine revived him, and they both ate and drank until they were singing in the middle of the restaurant. It was kind of awkward that the owner himself was drunk in his own restaurant, but one of Francis's right-hand men helped them both upstairs to the Frenchman's home. Francis resisted in the beginning, but finally complied when the man assured him he would do his best to run the restaurant in his place for that evening.

When they were in the apartment, Francis wobbled to the nearest couch and fell face-first on it, grinning like a fool. "Aaah, that's just... what I needed. This ship just keeps... rolling. Are we in a storm?"

Antonio giggled, barely managing to keep his own balance by leaning on the edge of a table, his face red because of the alcohol. He was holding the half-empty bottle of fine red French wine he had taken from their table minutes earlier. "You idiot, we're not on a boat."

"_Attends un peu…! Nous ne somme pas…?_" Francis's head shot up, cheeks red because of the alcohol as well. His slightly unfocused eyes darted around, recognizing his surroundings, and then his head fell down in the couch's cushion again. "Heheheh, you're right. It's not."

The Spaniard's hand left the table's surface as he tried to stand on his own. "Ha, it's almost like old times. We'd only need Gil here to complete the picture."

"The picture of what? Him dancing around the streets... or him being passed out on the floor...?" Francis chuckled, looking moments away from sleep.

Antonio chuckled as well, remembering his albino friend. He took in a deep breath, but found no satisfaction in it; suddenly the air inside Francis's house was too stale for him. He needed fresh air from outside, and maybe the cool evening air would help him regain his balance. "Oi Franny."

A groan was the answer.

The Spaniard started heading for the door, feeling the weight of Francis's keys in his pocket. He pondered on leaving the bottle, but then decided against it. "I think I need some fresh air."

"Then open a window, _ballot_."

"Mmm no, I think... I need to walk a while too."  
"Then walk out of the window, _non?_"

Antonio snorted, sloppily opening the door. "Just sleep, _tonto_. I'll be right back..."

A snore was the answer. Antonio chuckled and then left, closing the door as delicately as he could.

* * *

He had initially planned only to stand outside the restaurant – which was still busy serving a couple of late clients their desserts and coffees – for a while, maybe take a few steps back and forth, and then go back. However, he found himself walking down the avenue, first walking along the edge of the Palais-Royal, and then by the Seine's boulevard. Maybe it was the alcohol distorting his vision, but the city in the dead of the night was more beautiful than he had imagined or realized before. Because it _was_ the dead of the night, right? Wait, what time was it exactly? He glanced at his watch, it was somewhere after four in the morning. Heh, it could have been worse.

Walking with the Seine to his right, he saw an island not too far away in the middle of the river. He knew where he was, and he decided that'd be his destination for that night, before going back to Francis's house. He took a swig out of the wine bottle.

He crossed a short stony bridge and turned to his right, wanting to walk around the island and come back to this bridge after that. After walking along the petite island's shore, two square forms towering over the trees caught his attention. He took another swig out of the bottle, heading in that direction. He had a vague idea of what those things were supposed to be but... thinking was starting to get difficult. He scratched his temple.

However, after he stepped in a plaza, he immediately knew what it was. The two towers, the big rose window... Notre Dame.

He slowly wobbled towards the cathedral, and while mid-swig he had the impression of briefly seeing something moving inside one of the towers, but he immediately forgot about that after disappointedly noticing that the bottle was empty. He groaned, unceremoniously dropping it on the stony pavement with a loud clatter. He finally stood in front of the cathedral's entrance. It was... beautiful. The tall towers were majestically sturdy, and the many stained windows had to have something magical, because even in the shadows you could see their colours.

He felt drawn to this place. Why had he not visited this today? How could he have forgotten about it?! He had even been on the island, visiting Sainte-Chapelle! He could not really find an explanation for that, but he was determined to get inside that building now, it did not matter to him that it was the dead of night. He clumsily climbed over the short, waist-high black fence – almost ripping his trousers in the process –, got closer to the big main portal, and pushed one of the two doors.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't open.

Antonio groaned, determination growing stronger because he found his way in blocked. He tried the other five doors, but nothing happened. Out of frustration, he kicked the fence, but immediately regretted it as he hopped around on one foot, hissing out a curse in Spanish. He then threw his hands up in the air and climbed over the fence again, shooting a challenging look at the church, feeling as if it were mocking him. He wasn't giving up yet. There had to be other entrances, right?

His numbed mind sluggishly registered that there now was a shadow missing above one of the portals, but he shrugged, almost losing his balance while doing so.

He went to the side of the large building, staggering a bit to the side or stumbling every once in a while, and he was disappointed to find nothing but tall windows. Halfway through, walking in the grassy field behind the majestic apse of the cathedral, he gave up. He sighed deeply, thinking he'd just have to wait until tomorrow. He turned left around the last corner of Notre Dame and flanked the other side of the church, intending to go to the bridge he had crossed earlier.

That was when he noticed a small red door on the side of the cathedral. Antonio's eyebrows shot up, surprised. So there was still a chance! But no, as soon as he had climbed over the now much taller fence – this time ripping the trousers' fabric by his right knee in the process – he discovered that again, the door was locked.

He groaned in frustration and tiredness, bending down to inspect the damage of his clothes. Luckily enough, it didn't seem too bad, the rip in his favourite trousers was only a few centimetres long. He then straightened up, and went to climbing the fence once more.

However, this time, something behind him moved. The red wooden door creaked.

Antonio turned his head around while halfway up the fence, and heard a whispered curse.

"_Oh, shit-...!_"

The door was perhaps one or two centimetres open, but it was _open_.

He let go of the fence and fell back on his feet, ungracefully so and far from stable.

"What's this...?" he muttered. Was someone inside? This was... definitely weird. Even the priests were not supposed to be inside the cathedral at night, right?

He walked up the four steps that led to the red door, and slowly put his hand on its smooth surface, before opening it and treading inside.

The cold air of the cathedral engulfed him from all sides, but it was not unwelcoming. If possible, it was quite the opposite. The door slowly closed behind him, while he stepped forwards into the nave. In the middle of the night it was quite difficult to see, there was not much light besides the few candles that had been lit by a few devoted people that day, even if some streetlight poured in from a couple of windows.

He glanced at the candles, the few tiny flames spreading a little warmth and comfort. He fumbled in his pockets, avoiding Francis's keys and finding a fifty eurocent coin, before putting it into the offering box. He then lit up a candle himself. He wasn't quite sure why or for whom he was doing this, he had never really felt the need to pray for somebody else, and he had not suffered any loss. He smiled in a dorky way, guessing that that candle was for his lucky star.

"Yup... becaus' I'm lucky..." He mumbled sheepishly, looking around himself. "Who can sssay they were here at night, with no one... else, hmm...?" He was starting to slur. He turned around but almost lost his balance for the umpteenth time. "Whoops." He muttered, thinking that maybe it was time for him to go back. Then again, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, why not explore a little before returning home? That was his alcohol-clouded mind talking, so naturally he followed its thinking, and started wandering in the cathedral.

The drunk man was unaware that a pair of eyes was warily following him from the shadows. It was the shadow's fault that that man had entered in the first place, but it wanted to observe him a little, and then have fun with him.

Antonio clumsily walked around, not really aware anymore of where he was going. He walked up and down the nave, he glanced up at the magnificent organ, his jaw dropping in a very charming way every now and then, before he decided to go up some stairs he found behind a door. He found himself on some kind of balcony-like passageway, right between the two towers. He propped his elbows against the stony balustrade, between two thin and tall columns. A soft breeze tickled his cheeks, and Antonio closed his eyes, inhaling the night air almost in bliss.

"_You shouldn't be here_."

A voice sounded from behind him, and Antonio turned – sluggishly so, and grinning like a fool. "Why hello, of course I shouldn't... be here." He shrugged, totally ignoring the fact that he could not see who had talked. "I mean, it'ss... the middle of the night, nobody ssshould be allowed here..." He hiccupped.

The unknown person did not answer, so Antonio started thinking he might be making things up in his head. After all, he was drunk. He noticed a life-sized statue of a saint nearby, and plodded to it, before swinging his arm around its shoulders. "Heheee, found you. You weird voice, you thought you could... essscape from me, huh? Well... too bad..." He chuckled, poking the statue's ice-cold cheek. He then yawned, opening his mouth widely and stretching his arms, thus losing the grip on the statue's shoulders. He slowly slid down on the ground, the upper half of his body leaning onto the statue's legs, his eyes half lidded. "Oh, I'm all sleepy... that'ss... not good, Francis will kill me..." he yawned again, his vision starting to get blurry.

However, as he closed his eyes, Antonio heard the voice again. It snorted. "_Fucking drunk idiot_."

"...Mmmm, weird, the statue keeps talking..." The Spaniard muttered, making himself a bit more comfortable against the statue's legs.

Another snort.

Antonio lazily opened one eye, in time to see a figure approaching him. He saw barely more than a blurred silhouette, but even in this state, Antonio noticed that something wasn't quite right with it. The figure crouched in front of him, cocking its head to the side. The Spaniard's heavy eyelids closed once more, and the silhouette started talking to itself, while poking Antonio's shoulder.

"So, what should I do with him? Drop him over the balustrade? Nah, it might probably kill him. I could just leave him here. Then again, he's ruining my view... Ah, fucking tourists."

It was definitely a male voice, and Antonio found the willpower to just crack open one eye to see the mysterious man. All he managed to see was short, dark brown hair, before the darkness finally took him.

"God fucking damnit, seriously, what am I to do with this guy?!" the silhouette complained, walking around with his hands in his hair and groaning. "Oh wait. Maybe he can provide some entertainment after all." He said, a sneer appearing on his face, revealing sharp teeth. The silhouette bowed down, and hovered over the passed out man, before lifting his arms and dragging him across the stone floor. The Spaniard's feet disappeared in the shadows in a matter of seconds, and a laugh echoed between Notre Dame's walls.

* * *

_**That's all, folks!**_

_**...**_

_**Paris-Gare de Lyon : **__It's__one of the six large mainline__railway station__termini in Paris. It handles about 90,000,000 passengers every year, making it the third busiest station of France and one of the busiest of__Europe. __The station is served by high-speed trains to south and eastern France, Switzerland, Germany, Italy and __Spain__. [See? I even have to research in which train station Antonio will arrive! Now I just need the airport for the German bros, heh]_

_**Bonsoir, Antoine! :**__ (French) Good evening, Antonio!_

_**Macéo : **__A successful restaurant that really exists and that I decided to be Francis's restaurant. Address: __15 rue des Petits-Champs, 75001. Make a reservation a few days earlier or you won't get in ;)_

_**Palais-Royal : **__O__riginally called the Palais-Cardinal,__it's a palace that faces the Place du Palais-Royal, opposite the Louvre. Today the Palais-Royal houses the Conseil d'__État(=Council of State), the Constitutional Council and the Ministry of Culture._

_**Amigo :**__(Spanish) Friend._

_**D'accord! : **__(French) Alright!_

_**Sainte-Chapelle :**__It's a royal medieval Gothic__chapel, located on the__Île__ de la Cité (the same island on which Notre Dame is)__in the heart of__Paris. Although it was dama__ged during the French revolution, and restored in the 19th century, it retains one of the most extensive in-situ collections of 13th-century stained glass anywhere in the world. [I had initially chosen for this church for Feliciano because it's so beautiful, but then I discovered just how close this church is to Notre Dame. Too close, it would not work for the story, sadly enough.]_

_**Saint-Denis :**__ Feliciano's church. It'__s a large medieval abbey church in the city of Saint-Denis,__now a northern suburb of Paris. The building is of unique importance historically and architecturally, as its choir__completed in 1144 is considered to be the first Gothic__church ever built. Its stile resembles Notre Dame, especially from the front, however one of the two towers is missing: In 1837, lightning struck the spire of the north tower and damaged it severely; Three years later, the north tower was once again damaged by a storm. The spire was then disassembled by the architect, as well as the upper part of the tower, and the original stones were stored at the rear of the basilica. On March 1, 2013, the mayor announced the future reconstruction of the north tower.__The work is expected to begin in 2015._

_**Basilique Sacré-C**__**œur : **__is a Roman Catholic __church and minor basilica, dedicated to the Sacred Heart __of Jesus, in Paris.__A popular landmark, the basilica is located at the summit of the hill __Montmartre__, the highest point in the city. It was consacrated at the end of the Great War, in 1919._

_**L'**__**É**__**glise Saint-Germain-des-Prés : **__The __Benedectine abbey,__just beyond the outskirts of early medieval __Paris, was the burial place of Merovingian kings of__Neustria. __The Abbey was founded in the 6th century, and under royal patronage the Abbey became one of the richest in France; it remained a centre of intellectual life in the French Catholic church until it was disbanded during the French Revolution. An explosion levelled the Abbey and its cloisters, the statues in the portal were removed and some destroyed, and a fire in 1794 destroyed the library. The abbey church remains as the Église de Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Paris._

_**Attends un peu…! Nous ne somme pas…? :**__ (French) Wait a minute...! We're not...?_

_**Ballot :**__ (French) Idiot._

_**Tonto :**__ (Spanish) Idiot._

...

**_So that's it! For now. Mwahahah. Any ideas about what Romano is up to? *insert evil laughter here please*_**

**_I hope you liked it! And if someone is wondering why there were no policemen around the Notre Dame while Antonio was drunk, the reason is that that day they were on strike. Because it's France. _**

**_(Also, I think I might need some help with Spanish, becaues I'm pretty sure I will butcher it. If you want to help, send me a PM or review, thank you very much!)_**

**_Anyway, I wish you all a fantastic day, and until next chapter :)_**


	4. Long Time No See

**Ciao everybody!**

**It's been... more than a month. *Hides behind toppled table* I am so sorry for the delay, but after one month of randomness I finally got used to my new life's routines (moving to another country and start university is a harsh change, people!), I should be able to build up time for writing this story!**

**So without further ado, here's the new chapter, I hope you'll like it.**

**Please sit back, und ENJOY.**

* * *

In an early spring morning, a plane landed in the Charles de Gaulle Airport, situated in the north-eastern area of Paris. Soon after that, two German brothers took a taxi towards the centre of the city.

"You know what the only problem of this holiday is?" The albino sighed, looking outside at the top of the Eiffel Tower, which rose over the buildings and trees in the distance.

"What, Gil." The other responded, knowing that the elder brother would say something stupid.

"Well, Paris is... you know, the city of _looove_." Gilbert exaggeratedly stressed the last word, before coming closer to the younger sibling with a fluid motion and with exaggerated winking.

The blond brother squirmed and let out a groan of disgust. "God, _Gilbert!_"

As if he had not heard him and as if nothing had happened, Gilbert sat upright again and pouted while staring at the window. "...And of course I'm stuck here with you and not with somebody else. A _female_ somebody else."

The blond sighed and combed back a few strands of hair that had come loose from the gel's iron grip. Knowing he was about to set fire to a powder keg, he smirked. "Like whom, Elizaveta?"

A flash of horror could be seen in the albino's milky red eyes. "Oh hell no! Not Elizaveta!"

"Why not? It seems she's the only woman who can tolerate your presence." The blond sneered, knowing very well what kind of virago he was speaking of.

"She can beat me up any time, how do you think I'd survive two _days_ with her on vacation?! Like I said, hell no, anybody, any woman but Elizaveta." Gilbert roughly shook his head, his cheeks and ears all red from embarrassment. "Seriously Ludwig, I sometimes wonder if you're just nothing but a mad sadist."

"Maybe. But I'm also not _afraid_ of Elizaveta..." Ludwig teased, raising one eyebrow.

"I am _not_ afraid of her! And... you haven't seen her when she's angry, or when she's on her period! You would understand and support me if you had."

The blond frowned. "Well now you're just being rude."

"L-let's... stop talking about Elizaveta ok?! I just... want to enjoy my holiday with my buddy Francis. Because don't think I'll be walking through dusty museums or churches. Feel free to join us in the evenings however, eh?" Gilbert smirked.

Ludwig exhaled, looking outside. He had only one goal in mind, and that did not include carrying a drunken brother up the stairs to this friend's place. "I'll consider it."

The taxi left them not too far away from Gilbert's friend's restaurant, but the siblings decided that they first should have breakfast, and also that they did not want to disturb anyone yet since it was still pretty early in the morning. "They decided" equals "Ludwig's common sense had decided"; had it been for Gilbert, he would have hired a marching band as to wake his poor friend up in a jiffy.

They ordered coffee and croissants, and as they ate them, they watched the news. Of course, it was in French, but the duo could understand a bit of what they were talking about. For example, it seemed some idiot had been found almost naked in the Notre Dame that morning. The face of the man was never shown – not only for censorship and respect of privacy, but also because the cameramen were quite far away from said man – while he was being rescued by some fire-fighters. Apparently, he had been tied up with several ropes and sheets, which had been secured to the high domes above him and the nearby columns, in the middle of the central nave of Notre Dame, so that he would be dangerously dangling several metres off the ground. The irony was, the man was almost naked, but a lot of other clothes had been secured to his bindings: mainly underwear, socks and bras. Easy to predict, the priests were outraged.

Gilbert chuckled at the idiocy of the man. "How dumb can you be?! Seriously! I kinda wonder how he got there, but... ah, who cares? He was probably drunk and with other drunk people. Kesese!" He suddenly stopped laughing, and he looked stunned, as if he had somehow realized something. "Oh my God, Lutz, what if it's some kind of clue to an ancient puzzle?"

Ludwig rolled his eyes. "This is not a Dan Brown book, Gil. This is reality."

"But _what if-_...!?"

"No."

And with that, the argument of the weirdo of Notre Dame was closed.

At least, that's what they thought.

As soon as they thought it was a decent hour to knock on somebody's door, they went to Francis's house, which was right on top of his restaurant which was surprisingly already running and full of clients: Macéo. They rung the doorbell, but no one answered.

"Perhaps it's still too early?" Ludwig wondered, glancing at his watch. Almost nine in the morning. Shouldn't he be awake by now?

"Nah, he probably has a hangover." Gilbert shrugged, heavily pressing his index onto the doorbell and leaving it there.

After one minute of the long-ringing torture, an annoyed voice sounded from the speaker.

"..._Putain...!_" A groan, and then: "_Qui est là?!_"

Gilbert chuckled, smugly crossing his arms. "Now that isn't very nice, Franny."

There was a pause at the other end. "_Attends un peu... Gil?!_"

"In the flesh!" The albino exclaimed.

"_Er... Oh, right! Come inside!_" Francis sounded tired, even through the speaker.

The door opened with a buzz, and the two Germans entered with their small luggage.

At the top of the stairs, Francis had already opened the door and welcomed them with a tired but genuine smile. He was wearing what seemed to be long checkered pyjama trousers. "Gilbert, _mon ami!_ I'm so glad you came. And you brought your little brother, too!" He hugged the albino, and shook the blond's hand. 'Little brother' was something that one would not normally apply to Ludwig, since he was much taller, broader and more responsible than the albino.

Ludwig nodded politely, introducing himself. He and Francis had never met personally, but they both knew each other through Gilbert's stories.

Francis led them inside. "You can leave your bags here, I'll start making breakfast."

Ludwig stopped him. "No, thank you, you don't have to worry about that, we already had breakfast."

"Oh?" The Frenchman seemed surprised, but then smiled again. "No worries, I'll make it for myself then. Are you absolutely sure?"

Both Germans nodded, and sat by the kitchen table as too keep Francis company.

"You look tired, Francypants. Did you have another long night with a woman?" Gilbert suggestively raised his eyebrows, grinning.

"Not really, not tonight, I'm afraid." Francis chuckled. "I had to deal with a nuisance early this morning..."

A noise of something falling and a yelp came from the bathroom, not too far away.

Gilbert blinked. "You have another guest? ...Wait a second, you _lied!_ You _do_ have a woman here!" he jokingly accused his friend, dramatically so.

Now it was Francis's time to chuckle, without looking up from the eggs in the pan. "I don't think so."

The bathroom's door opened, and a figure stumbled out, clumsily covered by a big towel. "Francis, who's there, I heard voices-" The man stopped dead on his tracks, jaw falling open as he recognized the new guests. "Gil?!" He turned to look at the blond, making the mental connection. "Ludwig?!" And then, the back of the Frenchman. "Francis, what is this?!"

The albino stood up, equally stunned. "What the... Antonio?!"

Ludwig was also surprised to see the third member of his brother's trio, but also noticed that the Frenchman hadn't stopped smiling the entire time.

Gilbert quickly closed the distance between him and the Spaniard, and hugged him tightly. "_Mein Gott, _it's really you Toni!" He turned his head to face the Frenchman with a fake admonishing look, "Francis, you sneaky bastard, not telling me he was coming as well..."

"Yeah, me too! I didn't know you were coming, Gil!" Antonio complained, obviously as surprised as the albino.

Gilbert turned to the Spaniard again. "Where have you been, it's been ages!"

Antonio was widely smiling, but then he suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Where have I been? Like, in the past few hours, or...?"

"You're such an idiot Toni. I meant-" Gil started, releasing the hug and holding his friend by the shoulders at arm-length distance, before noticing something. "Uh, I think you missed a spot when you showered." He snickered, raising an eyebrow and pointing at Antonio's jaw. There, right where the jaw connects with the neck, there was a black smudge, as if someone had scribbled something with a marker.

His hand immediately went to cover the spot. "Oh, really?" He laughed nervously.

Ludwig had already noticed since the start, but it was finally Gilbert's turn to read the mood and understand that something was wrong. "Antonio, is everything alright?"

"Of course it is, why wouldn't it be?" The Spaniard backed off even more awkwardly.

Francis finally turned, sighing, a dirty palette in his right hand. "I think you can tell them, _Antoine_. You already trust Gil, and knowing his reputation, I'm ready to bet that Ludwig is trustworthy as well. They'll laugh..." and Francis shot a glance at the albino "..but in the end it will be less awkward. In a couple of days you'll be able to laugh for it too." He smiled encouragingly.

The Spaniard rearranged the towel clumsily around himself, feeling the gaze of everyone in the room upon him. "Er..." He then sighed, knowing it wouldn't make sense to drag this out. He straightened up, and took a deep breath. "Well... I don't suppose you saw the French news today...?"

Ludwig and Gilbert glanced at each other. "Actually, we did." Ludwig confirmed.

"Yea, there was also this weird story about a guy in the Notre Dame..." Gilbert grinned, and then noticed Antonio's face. He had a weird expression, with raised eyebrows and one mouth corner slightly pulled up, as if he were saying: 'Yup, you got me'.

Gilbert spluttered. "N-no way..." He barely managed to contain himself, but then exploded in a fit of laughter, his typical bizarre hissing laugh. "KESESESESE! _You?!_ You were that guy?! KESESE!"

Antonio raised his shoulders, admitting defeat. "Yes... it was me." He mumbled.

"Ohmygod" Gilbert breathed, gasping for air, "L-lutz! Did you hear that?" He continued laughing.

"We're in the same room, of course I heard that." Ludwig replied. He was slightly surprised by the revelation, he had to admit, but his brother was exaggerating things. Like always.

"Haaaaa...Please, please tell me what happened." The albino said, heavily plopping down on the chair by the table, as soon as he had returned a bit serious and had started breathing again.

"We had dinner last night," Francis started as he sat down with his breakfast, "and you could say that things got out of hand. With the wine I mean. I barely remember walking to the couch over there, and that's all I can say for what happened yesterday evening. This distinct gentleman however..." He shot an ironic glance towards the Spaniard, who understood the hint and continued the story.

"Well, my memory is a lot fuzzy as well, I have to admit I had drunk more than usual... I do remember a few things though, for example that I needed to get some fresh air; that's how I ended outside. How I ended up in Notre Dame however... I have no idea." He shrugged. "I didn't break anything, the only acceptable explanation would be that somebody let me in." Antonio said, scratching his head while trying to recover the drunken memories.

"Somebody let you in Notre Dame in the middle of the night. Yeah right." Gilbert chuckled. Ludwig had to admit that the Spaniard's story sounded ludicrous to say the least: not even the priests were allowed inside the cathedral at night.

"Somebody must have forgotten to lock a door, that sounds reasonable enough." Ludwig muttered.

Antonio shook his head. "No no, there was definitely someone. I remember that there was someone... and how would I have ended up tied like that if there hadn't been someone else?!" He finally sat down, arms crossed over his chest. "Seriously you wouldn't think a drunk man would be able to do that all alone. And for what?"

"He does have a point." Ludwig commented. Judging from the footage he had seen that morning, the Spaniard had been tied several metres off the ground.

"And my face!" Antonio pointed a finger to the dark remaining smudge on his neck. "The one who tied me up also scribbled all over me with a permanent marker... Wrote some pretty nasty things too... One of the priests that came in the cathedral in the morning fainted when he saw me."

"Sounds like the usual drill during a drunk night, huh Franny?" Gilbert commented, and the Frenchman smiled briefly before becoming serious again.

"Gil, you don't seem to realize that Antonio has been tied up in a very dangerous position. What if the ropes hadn't held him?" he said.

The albino shook his head. "I think you're all taking this too seriously and personal. I think that what happened was a way to attract news attention or something. Or simply a public prank on a hapless drunk who just happened to stumble by." He raised his hands. "Just shrug it off and laugh, Antonio was not hurt and all that happened was a small commotion and a fainted priest. No biggie!"

Francis cleaned his mouth with a napkin after he was done eating. "Maybe you're right..."

Antonio leaned back in his chair, pouting. "I'm still not convinced. I'm going back and start looking for that guy."

"I think that your chances of finding him are rather slim..." Francis tried to comfort him by promising they'd all have dinner together that evening, and with a laugh he said that this time they'd watch out more for the wine.

* * *

The afternoon went by quickly for the reunited trio of friends, as they spent it on talking and walking around Paris.

Ludwig on the other hand had a definite schedule in mind, and he had no intention of breaking it. He left his brother with the other two, and left to roam Paris on his own. He had a list of things to see – one of them was Notre Dame, actually – but there was one name, at the bottom of his list for that day, that burned in his mind.

Saint Denis.

A seemingly less important church, ever since he had returned to Paris after all these years, he could not deny that he couldn't wait for his feet to bring him there. It was a bit to the north compared to the heart of the city, but he did not mind at all.

And suddenly, as he was lost in his own thoughts, there it was. It stood majestically in front of him, its symmetry lopsided because of the missing tower, but nonetheless magnificent.

Tourists and visitors were still allowed inside, so he did not have problems getting in. The tall stained windows of the upper story let in the brightly coloured light of the sun slowly going down towards the horizon. It was only spring after all, the sun still set pretty early. A soft discordant symphony of murmurs and shuffled steps filled the air, as not to disturb the holy place.

Ludwig felt a shiver travel up his spine as soon as he set foot on the floor of the central nave. This place was exactly like he had remembered it to be, it had not changed at all. It was strange to think, that he had changed so much while this place had stayed the same for centuries.

He glanced at his watch. It was five after six in the afternoon, the cathedral would close in ten minutes. He had plenty of time to look and to do what he needed to do, and the sun wouldn't set in at least two hours. Good thing he had brought a book with him as well, he thought.

He expertly navigated through the thinning crowd, finding himself into a lateral nave in moments. From there he walked up towards the apse, where he knew there was a certain door – technically it led to the bathrooms, but also to a part reserved only for the personnel of the church. But he did not have any intention to go to either of those places. In fact, as soon as he opened the door, he turned to his right and faced another one. Ugly and small, it was not supposed to be seen, that was why it had been positioned behind the other, bigger and more polished door.

Ludwig exhaled, raising his eyebrows. He did not quite remember it like this.

He swiftly looked to the left, and then grabbed the doorknob. The door protested at first, the hinges old and stubborn, but after one firm push they relented. He quickly stepped into the dark, dusty room and closed the door behind him. One hand went up the door's frame and felt around a bit, before finding the treacherous extra lock. His lips curled upwards briefly because of the irony: more than ten years earlier it had been new and loose enough to move and close practically on its own with a jolt, now it was so old that it needed a good portion of his strength to be closed. With a rusty squeak, the lock was moved, and sealed the door from the outside world. Now nobody would be able to disturb him.

He used his telephone to scan his surroundings, and discovered that almost nothing had changed. The place was as dusty as he remembered. Perhaps smaller, but that was because he had grown bigger and taller: his head almost touched the ceiling of this old broom closet, which contained almost everything else _but_ a broom. Paint buckets, mops, dust sheets, various other old and forgotten items all stacked in here like in an old, way too small cellar. There was barely any space for him to stand.

He inhaled sharply as the delicate light blue light of his telephone revealed a familiar shelf to his right. He could almost see his younger self shivering beside it.

The telephone's light dimmed and then died, the shelf disappearing in the shadows. He shook his head. He had gotten out of here, had he not? Thanks to the exact same reason for his return to this place.

He took a paint bucket and sat on it, his shoulders resting against a big pile of unidentified junk.

He was finally here. Now he just needed to wait. Thank god he had a book and a flashlight with him.

* * *

Two and a half hours later, there was a very bored German in a forgotten broom closet in the church of Saint Denis. He had finished the book already, but knew it was too early to come out. He waited another half hour.

After that, he was quite sure there would not be a single soul left in the church except for him. He stood up, his hand searching for the darn lock, and then opened the door.

The corridor that led to the bathrooms and the personnel area was gloomy and dark, except for a few, very small yellow lights every now and then positioned on the floor.

Ludwig took a deep breath, readying himself psychologically, before turning left and going back into the main body of the church.

It was silent and solemn, without the whispers of the tourists. He remembered that when he had been lost, he had found it way too creepy and scary. But now, it was kind of reassuring, he didn't even feel the need to use the flashlight.

He slowly, silently walked towards the entrance, aiming for the stairs that would bring him to the tower. With every step he felt more and more conflicted.

Was he really sure he wanted to do this? What if it turned out he had hallucinated back then? What if he was just clinging to a way too vivid product of his imagination when he had been little? What he was doing couldn't exactly be considered legal, either...

He shook his head. He was already here, he couldn't turn back now. Even if it had been a dream... he had to check. Worst case scenario: he'd be disappointed and join his brother and his friends for the rest of the holiday.

He soon was on top of the stairs, the dim nightlight entering from the way too tall windows, outlining the silhouettes of bells.

If he remembered correctly, _he_ was supposed to be here.

He silently moved around the square space, looking behind any blind spots. But he was done pretty quickly with that reconnaissance. He sighed, disappointment sinking slowly into him.

The treacherous dusty place made him sneeze.

He smothered the sneeze as best as he could in his hand, but to him it still sounded like a bomb. Surely the neighbours must have heard it.

"_Bless y-!_"

A voice replied with a barely audible whisper, but then quickly shut itself.

Ludwig's eyes widened, and he briefly wondered who had been more stupid: he by not looking up above his head or _him_ by being so polite as to respond to sneezes while hiding.

Slowly, the blond lifted his head, and saw him, barely, hiding up in the dark, between the wooden beams of the tower.

"_Uh... hello..._" _He _said, knowing that he had been caught but still hiding.

Ludwig smiled. "Hello, Feliciano."

* * *

**That's all, folks!**

**Shitty cliffhanger is shitty, and I love torturing you. But you already know that.**

**Any ideas about what happened to Ludwig, and how he already knows Feliciano? (It's pretty obvious I think, but I still want to check, haha!)**

**Also, Antonio is not yet done with the Notre Dame, oh no *insert evil laugh here***

**See you guys next time! I'll do my best to make it only a 2-week long wait, and the chapter will be uploaded on Sunday, alright?**

**Have a fantastic day everybody!**

**...**

_**Charles de Gaulle Airport : **__**also known as **__**Roissy Airport**__**(or just **__**Roissy**__**in French), is one of the world's principal aviation centres, as well as France's largest airport. It is named after Charles de Gaulle**__**(1890–1970).**_

_**Putain...! : (French) Shit...!**_

_**Qui est là?! : (French) Who is it?!**_

_**Attends un peu... Gil?! : (French) Wait a second... Gil?!**_

_**[A million thanks to reviewer Xou who corrected my French, because of course I screwed up ;) merci!]**_


	5. Impossible Thing

**Ciao everyone!**

***Ducks to avoid thrown rotten vegetables***

**I am so sorry, I had promised I would upload after two weeks, but I'm a busy person and a lot of stuff happened, and I'm not writing them down here because it's about the story, not me! I feel very guilty for not uploading as frequently as I used to, _but always, ALWAYS remember that I will never, EVER abandon a story._ Is that understood? Good!**

**So! *straightenens up again* is anybody up for a new chapter? *Is hit square in the face by rotten tomato* I'll take that as a yes! Let's roll, people, I hope you'll like it!**

**Please sit back, unf ENJOY!**

**(Hmmm, I love tomatoes)**

* * *

Ludwig almost could not believe what was happening. The angel had not been a dream. He was right there, hiding above his head, probably not recognizing him. But Ludwig remembered.

"Hello, Feliciano."

Maybe saying his name would reassure him. And indeed, Feliciano stopped moving. Ludwig could almost imagine a puzzled look on his face, as he wondered how in the heavens he might know his name.

Feliciano's head peeked from behind a beam, curious but not completely convinced yet. "_How do you know my name...?_" He whispered, surprised yet still wary.

The German closed his eyes just for a moment, remembering what had happened years ago, on that holiday to Paris. "I got lost in the church when I was little. You helped me find the exit... remember?"

After a moment of silence, and then fingers snapped. "Oh wait, wait a second... I remember now, you're _Luddy!_" Feliciano said with a normal voice tone this time.

Ludwig inwardly cringed at the nickname, but yes, technically, he was 'Luddy'... he nodded.

There was the sound of something shifting, a flap, and in a second, Feliciano dropped in front of the German. The movement was supposed to be a graceful descent, and it initially was, but... something went wrong at the very last moment, and Feliciano fell face-first to the wooden floor.

_SMACK_.

"Ack! Ow..."

Ludwig, after an initial surprise, immediately crouched down to help the angel. Because Feliciano indeed was one, the white feathery wings on his back were proof of this. What an angel was doing in the tower of a cathedral in Paris was a mystery to him, but he was determined to know the answer to that sooner or later, now that he knew that he hadn't been hallucinating back then. And he wasn't imagining things right now: Feliciano _existed_, he could _feel_ the clumsy angel's arms with his hands as he helped him back on his feet.

"Ugh, thank you," Feliciano smiled sheepishly, as soon as he stood straight again. "My, you've grown!" He said, surprised, comparing his height to the much taller German, before standing on his toes to compare again, but discovering he was still shorter. "How many years ago was it?"  
"...Fourteen years ago..." Ludwig muttered, feeling light-headed. It might have been normal for Feliciano to meet him again after so much time, but it definitely wasn't for him, since he had been told that he had imagined everything for so long that he had started to believe it himself. Also, He had grown into an adult, while Feliciano hadn't aged a day. Even that toga still had the very same folds. It was beyond weird, and a teeny little bit creepy.

"So how have you been, Luddy?" The angel smiled innocently, as if he were expecting him to just shrug this whole thing off, as if nothing had happened.

"I... well... I've been good. I've been good." That was all he could get out at the moment. "I think... I need to sit down for a moment." He mumbled, and he did sit down on a stone block positioned near the wall.

Feliciano seemed to understand his temporary mental overload, and did not attempt to talk to the blond, who just blankly stared in front of himself for a good few minutes.

Apparently, that was the time it took for an angel's patience to run out.

"Luddy, are you alright?" He finally asked, cocking his head to one side and tilting his body so much that he was balancing on one foot and their eyes were on the same level.

Ludwig snapped out of it, shaking his head. This wasn't the moment to space or freak out. Feliciano was not a psychopath, he was being very polite and friendly, perhaps a bit too much for someone who was practically a stranger. The least he could do was to be polite as well. "Ah, yes, I am now, thank you." He paused, and frowned, his eyes not lost in space anymore but fixed on the angel's face which was still at his eye level. "But please, don't call me Luddy."

"Huh? Why not?" Feliciano pouted. He _pouted_.

"It's... embarrassing." Ludwig sighed, closing his eyes.

"Oh ok, I see, Ludwig it is then! And it's good you've been and are good!" Feliciano clapped his hands together, and then frowned, moving a reprimanding finger. "Did you scold your older brother for leaving you behind? So irresponsible, brothers should look out for each other!"

Oh yes, he did scold him. Well, not as much as his parents, and not immediately after the accident, but for the next fourteen years, he, Ludwig had been the elder brother, mentally speaking, scolding and looking out for his more reckless older sibling. Ludwig stood up from the block, inhaling deeply. "Well, yes. He's changed a bit now." Because Gilbert did care, he had a good heart, but he was, simply put, an idiot.

"That's good to hear, heheh." Feliciano started walking around, waving his hands about as he talked. "So what brings you here? I don't get many visits, you know, since the church is supposed to be closed at night..." he stopped dead on his tracks. "Wait a second... _No_..." He dramatically turned to face him, his voice no more than a whisper. "_You broke in...?_"

Ludwig cleared his throat. "Eh, technically, no. Just like that time, I closed myself in that broom closet. On purpose, this time." He shook his head. "But that's not the point!" He took a step forward. "The reason I'm here is... well, there are two actually. The first is that I wanted to check if you were really... uhm... really..." How could he say this without sounding just plainly rude?  
"...Real?" Feliciano helped him, his smile never faltering as he folded his arms over his chest, his feathery wings opening slightly before folding themselves on his back again as if to provoke him. His smile actually seemed more like a knowing, mischievous grin.

"Yes. I... look, I was little and scared, and at that age fantasy can play dirty tricks on a child's memory. At least that's what they always told me, until I was almost convinced of it. Almost." He emphasized.

Feliciano raised his shoulders, unfolding his left wing a bit. "You want to check thoroughly?"

Ludwig was still beyond amazed, his brain not quite registering yet the fact that in fact, those two were real feathery wings, attached with bones, muscles, tendons and nerves to a back. Not props, not fake, but real limbs. He did not really need another proof of knowing that Feliciano was real, and not a vision, since he had helped him up earlier: he had felt him, he was very much real and alive. But the wings... he gingerly moved a hand up, and hesitated slightly before making contact with the feathers. Feliciano then decided to unfold his wing a bit more, so that the blond's hand sunk deeply into the feathers. Solid, firm but soft to the touch, just like a bird's feathers. He breathed in and out deeply, knowing that Feliciano was eyeing him attentively, with a big knowing smile.

Ludwig carefully curled his fingers around a feather. "I see you now. You are no hallucination, you really are here. You, are real. So that brings me to the second reason I'm here." He pulled the hand out of the feathers, clasping it behind his back, while Feliciano folded his wing again. "It's because I never had the chance to thank you. I was so scared back then, and you helped me out of that closet. You calmed me down, you soothed me and brought me outside, just before dawn. But before I realized it, when I turned back to thank you, the doors were closed and you were gone." He paused, and looked the angel straight in the eyes. "So, now, finally... Thank you." He murmured.

Feliciano smiled a toothless smile, before grinning widely and saying "Ah, it was nothing! _I_ should have thanked _you_." At the German's confused look, he continued, turning around himself as he spoke. "I don't get a lot of visitors around here, and you kept me company that time. It was nice. So thank you as well."

That smile. Feliciano seemed to never stop smiling. That warm, kind smile that could reassure anything.

He was surprised that the angel was actually thanking _him_. Keep company? More like be a nuisance, a crying mess. But he was not going to start an argument about that, because he already knew he would lose. It was a funny feeling, he barely even knew Feliciano, yet at the same time he felt like he had always known him.

"You must get lonely..." he commented absentmindedly.

Feliciano sighed. "A bit. Sometimes."

Ludwig did not expect an answer like that. "But why do you stay here then? You have wings, fly away! Go to... well, heaven I guess." he muttered the last part.

Another sigh, but still the angel smiled. "Nah, I can't go away from here. And by the way, I wouldn't know where to go." His gaze shifted to one of the impossibly tall windows, where you could see the lights of the city brighten up the night.

Ludwig was dumbfounded. Not only lonely, but also trapped, apparently? "How... how long have you been here?" Should he really ask this question to a being who hadn't aged a day in fourteen years?

"A long time. It's not that important." The angel chuckled, before suddenly brightening up. "But while you're here, can you stay for tonight? I can show you around my home this time! The church is so beautiful, even at night. Oh! I can show you my room!" He grabbed the blond's elbow and started dragging him down the stairs. "But first, a free tour from the most expert guide ever, which means: me. Follow me!"

And what could Ludwig do? Protest? Would not have worked, not in a thousand years, not with Feliciano. And how did he know that? Once again he had the bizarre feeling he had known the angel for years.

So he followed, stumbling after the now overly-excited angel.

* * *

Feliciano maintained his promise: he was the most expert guide ever, he never tired and he was never boring. Ludwig could practically feel the energy emanating from the very active angel. And he listened for hours to Feliciano, who never stopped talking. He listened to the long and tormented story of the church, of the men who devoted themselves to it, of the many statues and paintings, of the many dramas – especially regarding weddings and funerals – that had taken place here. It might have sounded boring to the small minded, but Ludwig was fascinated. Most of all, one of the most fascinating things was that Feliciano told the stories as if he had seen them with his own eyes. And Ludwig now had the idea that he indeed had. But also, the angel always found a positive or funny note in everything.

In that precise moment he had been contemplating the rose window with Feliciano, but he turned to look at the angel. He was still telling a story about a crazy acrobat who had done something very silly with that window, around a couple of centuries earlier, and Ludwig wondered for how long he had not talked to a person. Feliciano seemed so happy to be able to share all these stories with someone. To finally be able to _talk_ to someone. It pained him not to know how the story of the acrobat was going to end, but Ludwig couldn't help but interrupt him.

"...Feliciano, why are you telling me all this?"

The angel blinked, surprised, and turned. "What do you mean?"

Oh hell, how was he supposed to put this in words. Ludwig combed imaginary strands of rebellious hair back. "I mean... why do you trust me so? Why are you telling me all these stories...? Why... me?"

Feliciano still seemed confused, as his brows knit together.

"It just... it just seems to coincidental, doesn't it? I mean... I found you again, after years. You haven't aged one day since when I was a little kid, you're talking about stories that are hundreds of years old, as if you were there to see them, and... ah for god's sake, you have _wings!_" he pointed at them with his hand. "And... and for some reason I don't think it's weird." His shoulders fell. "For some reason, I trust you enough to believe you instantly and you trust me enough to tell me all this... why? Why me? Why does this all seem normal to me?"

Feliciano blinked, before breaking into a smile. "I don't know, honestly. I think it has to do with your song, but who knows! It's exactly as you described, I trust you won't run away screaming from seeing me, and believe me, people have done that. Some even fainted, especially back in the day where they thought they were having divine visions, hahaha! There was this woman..." he caught himself digressing, and stopped. "Sorry. But what I'm trying to say is I have exactly the same feeling."

Ludwig had had trouble keeping up with the angel's rapid speech speed, but had noticed something strange. "Wait, it has to do with my... what?"

"Your song!" Feliciano answered nonchalantly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Before Ludwig could ask what on Earth he was talking about, the angel seemed to remember something as he glanced first at the floor and then outside the window, where the skies were slowly getting brighter. "Oh dang, I did not notice how much time I've been talking! Surely, time flies... But wait! I still want to show you something," he said, grabbing the German's elbow once more with sudden urgency. They walked up the stairs of the tower, and when they were on the last floor Feliciano made a ladder pop out of nowhere. With that, they both climbed even higher, in the web of wooden beams, and – rather unsafely, in Ludwig's opinion – clambered up more, until they reached a hidden last floor.

Even when Ludwig stood on it, he couldn't believe it. A whole other _floor_ was built in the tower, so high and directly under the square roof that it was above the highest of the bells. The tall windows barely reached Ludwig's eye-level.

The wooden floorboards protested slightly at Ludwig's weight, but did not creak. The blond glanced down the small hole he had clambered through to get here, and barely even saw the floor below. Fascinating.

But what was even more fascinating was what the room itself contained.

Stuff. The only word one would be able to use to describe this wide array of objects and things lying around the place like in a raging teenager's room, was _stuff_.

Shelves and chests, probably self-made by the looks of them, overflowing with the most bizarre things. Glasses, pencils, rosaries, scarves and hats, mismatched gloves, walkie-talkies, jars full of small coins, ties and plastic flowers, while colourful beads or shells on strings hung from the low ceiling together with a dream-catcher. Ludwig even spotted a rubber duck nearby.

"Ah, sorry for the mess... it gets a bit windy sometimes, and bats and pigeons let themselves in as they please, I can't really make them leave, and by the way they're so cute, haha..." The angel was blabbering to himself again as he pointlessly tried to tidy a bit of the mess up. He was talking more to himself than to the German again, probably because he was used to it, probably... because he couldn't trust a lot of people, Ludwig suddenly realized.

"You won't _believe_ what people lose in a church!" Feliciano chuckled, holding up a shiny metal plate.

"...Rubber ducks?" Ludwig murmured, picking it up and too astonished to be able to say anything else, his normally logical brain failing him for the umpteenth time that night.

"Ah! You met Duckie already! He's one of the rare ones, so far I've only got one of those. I wonder how he came here, I bet he would be able to tell quite a story!" Feliciano exclaimed.

Ludwig stifled a yawn with his hand, tiredness finally taking its toll on him and pulling at his eyelids, but he was determined not to give in to it. He looked around a bit, zigzagging around the place, before finding an object that didn't quite look like the others, sitting all alone in a corner of the small room.

"And what is this?" the German asked, standing in front of it. Feliciano stopped his pointless rummaging through the noisy junk, and quickly neared him.

"Oh, that." Feliciano almost seemed disappointed that among all the objects he possessed, Ludwig had noticed this one, as if it were an ugly painting that the owner did not really want others to see, positioned in the corner of a the room. "Heh. That's my bed."

Ludwig frowned, taking in the few details of the object. It was a white marble basement, nothing more than a plain block really, thirty centimetres tall and finely polished. Three oddities struck him. For starters, that Feliciano called it his bed, since it wasn't nearly big enough for a person to lie on. Second, even if it were, who would want to sleep on a cold block of hard marble. Third, it looked perfectly polished, even Ludwig who was no mason could see that the one who had crafted that block must have been an expert. So why was one side of the block all broken? It looked as if the basement had been much bigger before, but someone had whacked through it with a hammer or an axe.

"Your... bed?" Ludwig muttered questioningly.

"Yup! That's how you call the place where you sleep, right? Well, technically I don't really sleep, not like you do, but still." He chuckled.

Ludwig still didn't quite understand how this could qualify as a bed, but he decided to let it slide. He knelt down and passed a hand onto the broken side of the block. "Why is this broken? Such a waste, this looks like a beautiful block."

Feliciano clasped his hands behind his back, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Uh... I don't know. I don't remember."

"Hm?" Ludwig turned to look over his shoulder at the angel.

"I don't... remember... it's always been like this since I can remember. But I know it's not supposed to be like that. I don't know how to explain it, but... I have this... feeling, right here," he pointed at his gut, "That it was different. Also, I have the feeling I'm waiting for someone. He... or she... is supposed to be here, but he's not." He seemed to be struggling to find the right words, as he hunched his shoulders. He was slowly moving his hands as if they would help him express what he was trying to say.

"Waiting? For whom?"

Feliciano stopped moving. For a second, he stood perfectly still. Thinking, trying to remember, maybe. Then, he shrugged. "I don't know."

After that, neither of them spoke, an awkward silence fell. Until Feliciano looked up and saw something outside the window, something that made him jump and stand all straight again.

"Oh no! You have to go, Ludwig!" he suddenly exclaimed.

The blond blinked. "What-"

"There's no time, no time at all, you have to hurry! Shoot, I totally forgot about the time... Here, I'll help you get down..." Feliciano dragged him to his feet and started pushing him to the floor hole that led down to the bells. "The church is going to open up soon, and you can't be here when the priests arrive, you have to get out before they find you!" the angel explained quickly, before swiftly helping – pulling was a better word – him down, with a flexibleness and agility that contradicted his clumsiness of his face-first fall earlier that night.

In no time they were at the bottom of the tower again. Feliciano accompanied him to the entrance doors, and after opening one he practically pushed him outside. "Thank you, and goodbye!"

Ludwig didn't really understand all this sudden urgency, which felt a bit weird after the long night. But maybe it was because he was tired. After being pushed outside the church however, he had a flash of a sudden realisation. This reminded him way too much of fourteen years ago. Moments from now, Feliciano would close the door behind him.

"Wait!"

He whirled around and put his foot against the door, which Feliciano was indeed already closing behind him. Feliciano looked up, surprised. Ludwig was even more surprised to see that the angel suddenly looked sad.

"...Yes?"

The German swallowed. "Will I see you again? If I come tomorrow, will you be here?" he wasn't planning on waiting another fourteen years.

Feliciano's eyes almost literally lit up. "Will you come? Really?" he said hopefully.

"Are you seriously asking me this? Of course, I am so confused and I still want to ask you so many questions...! But because I apparently can't ask them right now, I will come again this afternoon, okay?" Ludwig nodded.

"Ah, afternoon?" Feliciano repeated, unsure.

The German slapped his forehead. What an idiot he was. "Of course, no, not in the afternoon, other people will see you, right? I'll wait until the church closes again, like today. So it'll be in the evening. But I'll be there, count on it."

Feliciano broke into a smile. "I will! Thank you, Ludwig, I had a great time, I loved the company. See... you later, I guess?" he spoke the last words slowly, as if they were in a foreign language, as if he had never spoken them before.  
"See you later." Ludwig nodded, removing his foot from the door, allowing the angel to close it. With a deep click, the church doors sealed themselves.

He turned around, his back facing the church, as he looked at the bright pink morning sky, feeling a bit light-headed as he processed what had actually happened. He felt once more like everything that had happened inside the church had been a dream, and that outside was the real world. But no. Feliciano was real, he was part of this real world.

He stood there for a while, alone, not really motivated to move yet. After a couple of minutes however, when he saw the red sun rise, he decided it was time to go home and catch some sleep, since he felt exhausted, tiredness hungrily pulling at his eyelids.

He only hoped that Gilbert and his friends would be hungover enough to not to notice that he had been gone all night.

* * *

**That's all, folks!**

**Now I hope you liked Ludwig and Feliciano's reunion, and I hope you can forgive me if I can't keep such a speedy schedule as with my previous stories. But as I said before, never will I ever abandon a story! NEVER! **

**Hah, I dropped a lot of plot hints here and there, let's see who can find them. Also, I'd like to make a random question, totally unrelated to the story: How do you think Duckie ended up in the church? I'd love to hear what you can come up with, fantasy can is a wonderful thing.**

**But alas, I must go for now. **

**I hope to see you next chapter!**


	6. Legends are bothersome

**Hello guys!**

**So, I've been gone for a while, I know. Believe it or not, I've been busy and university soaks up my inspiration, both in writing and drawing.**

**But I still love this story and you people, so here's the new chapter!**

**Please sit back, und ENJOY.**

* * *

Antonio did go back to the Notre Dame that afternoon, even if only briefly. Because, even if he would not admit it at the moment, trying to find a random stranger that wronged him while he was drunk was less important than a reunion with his friends whom he had not seen in years.

It was impossible, and Antonio knew it, he had a very low chances of finding this guy in the first place. The only thing he remembered seeing before passing out was that he had medium-short, dark brown hair. A piece of information that was anything but helpful. And who guaranteed that he would be at the place of the crime the day after? Unless... wait, first of all, what was a person doing in the dead of the night in a church that was supposed to be closed? That person should not have been there, unless... unless _he worked there at night_. His right fist plopped in his opened left palm, as he finally had a clue where to start looking and asking. But he would go only for a short time, because it was his first day of the reunion of the Bad Touch Trio – that was how they had been called at school – it would be some sort of reconnaissance, he would definitely come back.

In any case, he found himself excusing from his friends for an hour or so, before standing inside the big church. Notre-Dame, "_Our Lady_", welcomed him. Sort of. And not only him, the place was crawling with tourists. Well, it was only logical, it was three in the afternoon, of course it would be full of those people.

He caught himself staring at the people so he looked up at the church's structure, and was amazed. Sure, he had already seen it but he had been drunk, it was all a bit fuzzy.

He took a few steps and lowered his gaze as to avoid bumping into the (way too many) tourists, headed for a security guard. It was a man in his late fifties, with short greying hair and a small but visible belly. Of course this was not the man he was looking for, but he seemed talkative enough.  
"Excuse me?" He started.

"Oh, hello. Can I help you?" the man said with a kind smile.

Antonio thought about what he should ask next without sounding weird. So he smiled his most brightest smile and donned his most clueless expression. "Actually, yes. Uh, is it possible to visit the church at night?"

The man blinked, as if he had been surprised with the stupidest question in the world. Way to go, Antonio scolded himself, way to go. The man recollected himself. "Of course not, the opening and closing times are written clearly on that sign, see? Over there." He pointed at a standing sign not too far from the door.

"Ah, yes, of course." Antonio lightly slapped his forehead. "Thank you. But..." he still had one chance to ask something before this conversation was over. "I think I saw a light, a couple of days ago. I mean, at night of course. I was walking outside, and I think I saw someone... inside."

Something twinkled in the guard's eyes. "Oh, really? Are you sure?" he asked slowly.

"Not really, I was a bit drunk." Antonio quickly said, rubbing his temple. "But so... it was my imagination? Or was it a night guard?"

The man shrugged. "There is no night guard, so I'd say it was your imagination." He chuckled, and Antonio would be damned if it didn't sound almost _knowing_.  
"I'm sorry, did I say something funny?" Antonio asked, brow furrowing. He was not exactly in the mood to be mocked, he needed to know if there was a way to find the guy who strapped him metres from the ground.

The man waved a hand. "No, not at all. Actually, it is very interesting." He looked left and right, and then motioned for Antonio to come closer. "Since I recognize you – I was here this morning, and saw you while you were hung up and all scribbled over – I'll tell you. You kind of deserve to know." Antonio noticed with a bit of shame that he had been caught lying, but the man did not seem to mind. The Spaniard blinked however, confused at his words. He deserved to know something, because he had been subject of a weird prank?

The man took a deep breath, and continued with a conspiracy tone, leaning even closer to him. "There's a legend, unknown to most tourists, but that every Parisian more or less has heard at least once in his or her life. The outsiders that do hear of it do so because, like you, they come by accident directly in contact with it."

Now Antonio was nervous. "In contact with what?" he whispered.

"The spirit of Notre-Dame." The man answered with a breath, dead serious. "You see, the legend tells that a spirit dwells this church, a presence other than the master of the house, of course." He paused, looking up and nodding at the altar with a big cross. "In any case, this spirit has been here for centuries, it has never been seen but every once in a while it leaves traces, either intentionally or because it forgets to clean up after itself. One of the biggest traces it leaves intentionally is pranks on nightly trespassers." He nodded at him. "And _that_ is why we don't have night guards. We don't want them ending up as prank victims. Every time it happens the priests flip at us guards. Well, anyway, last time it happened was about thirty or so years ago, so I guess you were just unlucky."

Antonio blinked, astounded. This was definitely not what he had thought he would hear. The old man was probably already going senile. "A spirit? Don't make me laugh, whoever it was, the one that strung me up there was definitely solid. This is nonsense." He shook his head slowly, already turning and about to say farewell to the guard.

"Well, I personally call it a spirit because I think all it does is harmless pranks and some vandalism every now and then, but many others, especially the religious folks, call it a demon or devil. And yes, it's very solid, as much as you or me." The guard said with a bizarre mischievous glint in his eye, patting his chest lightly.

"Why, have you seen it?" Antonio sarcastically, still far from convinced but slightly condescending.

The guard chuckled. "Oh no, not me. But my grandfather did. And he even shared a bottle of wine with it, or at least that's what he told me. So yes, I think it's real." Antonio did not know how to reply to that, so simply stood there for a few long seconds, until the guard tapped his forehead with two fingers in a sort of salute. "Have a nice day, sir."

"...Y-yes, thank you." Antonio managed to respond, before walking away. Saying he was confused was an understatement. It was utterly ridiculous. He had been pranked by a demon spirit thing living in a church? Yeah, right.

He glanced at his watch. He still had ten minutes to kill before he had to head back to Francis and Gilbert. He could just go and have a look around while he was here. Now that he thought about it, he especially wanted to see where and how someone could have hung him up. He looked up again, and decided to go to the first story, where there were less tourists.

When he got up, he glanced down from the balustrade at the great nave. He was continuously distracted both by the tourists and the dazzling beauty of the place, he had to admit it was still breathtaking. He slowly advanced down the long line of balconies and windows facing the inside space, roughly until the place where he had been strung up. The balcony was already small in itself, but it had been made even smaller by the presence of a human-sized statue. Antonio looked down, and saw that its basement wasn't fixed onto the floor, column or wall like most statues were, and was even broken on one side. Whoever's idea it had been to move that thing here, it had not been a good one, it took in a lot of the already scarce space. One marble arm was even slightly raised, as if to prevent people from standing beside it. The message seemed "if you want to use a balcony, get another one".

Antonio sighed and rolled his eyes, working his way around the arm until he had passed, and he could peacefully lean onto the balustrade.

He glanced down and then up, checking if this was indeed the spot. He even double-checked. Yup, this was it. But... he came to a sour conclusion. There was no way for someone to hang him up, even from here. The ceiling was simply too high and far away. No normal ladder could have reached, even from this balcony. Unless he had been flying-

_A spirit..._

He groaned, leaning heavily onto the balustrade and rubbing his face with his palms. No way, no way in hell. The old man had to be making fun of him, which Parisian would not make fun of a tourist anyway?

He sighed, chin propped on the palm of his hand, while he slung his other arm around the shoulders of the statue as if it were one of his best friends.

"See that man over there?" He asked the statue while pointing at the crowd below, "He's probably laughing behind my back now. He told me this story that the man that pranked me is supposedly a demon spirit thing living here. And to think that for the smallest of moments, I believed him!" He chuckled, and carried on the conversation with the statue. "You see, I was tied up and hung up there, at an almost – almost – impossible height." He pointed up now, and looked back at the statue as if to check it were really listening to him. To his slight surprise, the statue's marble eyes were already looking up, and he noticed the figure had horns coming out of its forehead. His arm dropped, and so did his head. "Oh well, I probably deserved it anyway," he said sheepishly, "I was drunk after all. And it's never nice to have a drunk stumble into your house, let alone a church, let alone Notre-Dame herself. So maybe I'm also to blame. There. I admit it, I shouldn't have done that, and _if the spirit that supposedly tied me up is listening,_" he slightly raised his voice with the last sentence and looked around, and the few tourists around turned to look at him puzzled, trying to understand why he was talking to – literally – nothing but thin air. Antonio took a deep breath as he felt his head start to become beet red because of embarrassment, "...I'm sorry." He finished the sentence, burying his hands deep in his pockets and feeling his whole face, including his ears, burn.

The few tourists that had witnessed the scene shrugged, and continued their sightseeing. Antonio turned and looked carefully before working his way around the statue's arm, and suddenly stopped.

He hadn't even looked carefully at the statue while talking to it before. Now he could have a better look at it, and something, _something_ made him stop and look at it properly.

It was a devil. Not just a generic demon, but a proper devil with horns, wings and tail, the marble so perfectly refined that the wings even had a leathery appearance. There was an odd curl in its hair at the crown of its head, right between the two short horns. But what seemed a bit weird, apart from its bizarre positioning and its damaged basement – why would a statue so perfectly refined up to the point of the leathery appearance of the wings have such an imperfect basement to stand on? – was that the devil seemed to be thoroughly enjoying what it was watching. And if Antonio followed its gaze, he would look slightly up, somewhere... no, _exactly_ where he had been dangling a whole night.

Antonio felt something cold seep into his gut, as if he had swallowed an ice cube.

_Well, I personally call it a spirit because I think all it does is harmless pranks and some vandalism every now and then, but many others, especially the religious folks, call it a demon or devil. _

The devil had his chin propped against his palm, leaning onto the balustrade, slightly grinning, revealing an almost pointed canine.

_And yes, it's very solid, as much as you or me._

Antonio suddenly felt very uncomfortable in the small balcony where the statue almost took all the place for itself. A first-row seat for its own prank. The Spaniard shook his head as soon as he realized the absurdity of what he was thinking. Spirits, devils in statues, this whole thing was not making any sense at all, and that guard was probably now looking at him and laughing.

Feeling his face burn even more because of more embarrassment and – even if he would never admit it – feeling so uncomfortable by staying too close to that weird statue, he worked his way around the devil's slightly raised arm and hurriedly left Notre-Dame, heading back to Gilbert and Francis, deciding to close the whole accident in an imaginary chest in his mind, throw away the key and toss the thing in an imaginary well.

* * *

"So Antonio, anything you have to confess? Where have you been?"

"Uh, sorry guys, I Just had to... do... something, don't worry about it."

"Oooooh, you're being mysterious... I bet it's a _she_."

"No I'm not! And no it's not a girl, Francis!"

That evening, the trio had a good time with an amazing dinner (in Francis's restaurant, of course) and a lot of wine. Gilbert whined that he preferred beer, but they agreed they would drink it another day, probably tomorrow.

And that night, all three collapsed in their bed without having a single worry in the world: Francis's restaurant was once again taken care of by his employees, Gilbert knew that his brother was big and responsible enough to look after himself and Antonio had forgotten all about the creepy statue and the weird stories connected to it.

But whether he wanted it or not, it was already too late for him to not be involved. Not that he had a choice in the matter: in cases like these, where the legend is alive and conscious, once you get tangled up you will never break free.

* * *

**Lame foreshadowing is lame, but I hope you enjoyed the (very short!) chapter nonetheless :)**

**See you next time!**


	7. Shock

**Pleas sit back, und ENJOY!**

* * *

The next morning, the trio woke up to the inviting smell of coffee and bread: Ludwig was making breakfast for them all. He apologized at first for intruding into Francis's kitchen, but after his "Nonsense! My house is your house", the tall blond relaxed a little.

Francis noticed he seemed fatigued.

"Didn't you sleep well? You look tired." Francis asked, concerned, of course, of his guest's wellbeing.

"What?" Ludwig looked up, surprised, and then gently rubbed the skin under one eye. "Oh, no, thank you, I slept well, but I came home late last night. I lost track of time, and I loved the city at night." He said, surprised at how well the lie rolled off of his tongue.

"Did your sightseeing go well?" The Frenchman asked, and Gilbert snorted.

Ludwig shot a quick glare at his older brother, and then answered. "It went very well. Today I'm doing museums." Which was true, one or two museums were supposed to be on his schedule today, but the all-nighter he had just pulled was weighing him down considerably. He hoped he could stay at Francis's home alone for a while to have a power nap or something similar, before going anywhere again.

"Good! _Trés bien_." Francis smiled, a cunning spark in his eye as he glanced at the albino. "You know what, Gil, Antonio? I think we should do some sightseeing too. I want to show you my Paris."

"Really? Great!" Antonio perked up a little, excited. "A sightseeing tour from a local!"

Gilbert just buried his face in his hands groaning. But maybe he wasn't serious, after all, sightseeing was still better than a museum.

The four enjoyed their breakfast merrily, and then the trio left, ready for a trip around the city. Ludwig was left alone in the house, and he definitely needed it. As soon as he was alone, he sunk into the sofa and fell almost immediately asleep, but not before remembering to put an alarm.

Four hours later, he woke up, feeling like his energy reserves had uploaded like a battery. He quickly tidied and readied himself to exit into the city, glancing at his list. He shouldn't go to a big museum like the Louvre that day, he wanted have more time for it, so he chose a slightly smaller museum. Coincidentally, it was near Saint Denis, where Feliciano was. He knew he had promised he would come only in the evening, but somehow he could not resist. His burning curiosity and his thirst for answers during those fourteen years had never really been quenched and had therefore almost sunken to the background, but now that the source of all the answers was right at his fingertips, he really could not take it.

He took a decision. He would be in Saint Denis that afternoon, and visit Feliciano in his tower. Nobody would be up there, above the rafters, he just needed to choose a moment where there would not be any tourist in the part of the tower that was open to visitors.

Smiling but also burning with determination, he exited into Paris. Glancing at the streets and typical houses, he suddenly noticed just how excited he really was.

* * *

Although it consisted of a small collection if compared to other famous museums, the one Ludwig visited was intriguing and amazing. He exited with the typical tired feeling of visiting those art houses lingering in his tired head, but was nonetheless thankful for having gone there.

He looked at the sun, still high in the sky but slowly sinking to the horizon, and then at his watch. It was almost a quarter to six in the afternoon, it would take him a while to arrive to Saint Denis, but he was relaxed: the church would still be open for at least half an hour still. During his walk to the church, he called his brother to warn him that he would not join them that evening.

He did not even need an alibi, his brother automatically created it for him.

"Lutz, get out of those dusty museums and get a _life_, for God's sake." He grumbled, half concerned, half scorning. "Those old things aren't going anywhere anyway."

Ludwig could already hear the alcohol in his voice: it was obvious that somewhere the sightseeing had taken a turn for the drinks instead. He could hear the voices of Francis and Antonio in the background, among other voices and the tinkling of glasses. "Thank you for your concern, idiot." He said, almost affectionately. "But I'll be in these dusty museums until they close, and then I want to see more of the city."

"Ludwig, you _promised_ you wouldn't be a loner again, damn it. I want you to enjoy an evening with my friends." The albino whined, and Ludwig heard Francis and Antonio chime in, almost in unison.

"Come on, Ludwig!"

Ludwig sighed, halting at a red light and taking a decision.

"I'll join you tomorrow evening. Promise."

"You better!" Gilbert barked in the receiver, making the blond cringe.

"Don't yell. I'll be there, don't worry." He said with a smile, before saying goodbye and ending the call.

Well, tomorrow evening he would be busy, he had to make the most out of today. He was glad he had decided to visit Feliciano earlier: this way he'd also have more time to get some sleep.

Soon enough he caught sight of Saint Denis, and shortly after he ended up inside. He quickly found his way up to the tower, zigzagging through a pack of English tourists, all dressed with the typical colours and attires that characterized every tourist around the world. They were all observing a small statue, and the guide was explaining something to them, and while Ludwig's interest was slightly piqued, he couldn't find it in him to stop and listen to its story. Something felt a little odd, but he shrugged the feeling off his shoulders.

In the end, he was finally in the tower, and he was lucky: the last people present, a Dutch couple, was leaving the place, so he had the whole space to himself. The perfect opportunity. He quickly checked left and right for one last time, before crouching down. Feliciano had taken a ladder, but Ludwig did not know where he could find it, so he gathered all the strength he had in his legs and jumped as high as he could. He loved museums and history, and Gilbert called him a bookworm, but Ludwig was tall and had enough muscles to make non-sporty people look at him with envy. Stretching out his arms, his palms slapped against the solid surface of the lowest rafter. He dangled there for the fraction of a second before pulling himself up, his strong arms able to do that with almost no effort.

Straining to remain in balance, his feet found the rafter, and then he stood up, leaning to the stony wall with his shoulders. He looked down to control no one had detected him, and then looked up, groaning. He didn't recall that that part of the tower still went up so much, so he prepared himself for the climb. The rafters were much closer than the first one, but still, he knew he was a little out of shape- it was holiday, after all. However, he nimbly ascended.

Panting, with red cheeks and a couple of loose blond strands of hair hanging in front of his eyes, he finally put his knee on the last floor of the tower, and his eyes met the gigantic mess of Feliciano's room. A small smile pulled at his lips at the sight. The beads and shells that hung from the ceiling shifted slightly, tinkling softly as if greeting him.

While slowly inching forward, he called: "Feliciano?" He said it with a low voice, afraid to scare the angel. However, no answer came. "Hello?" He looked around to spot the head or wings of the boy, but still no sight of him. He stopped walking around carefully and took determined steps now. He called his name again, but still no answer. He ended his short search at the marble slab that Feliciano had for some reason called his bed. Still no trace of him, not even a feather.

Ludwig felt disappointed, his shoulders sagged. Where was he? Had he left? No, he had said he could not. So if he was not here, Ludwig decided he must have had another hiding spot in the church.

He almost facepalmed as soon as the realisation struck him. Of _course_ there were other hiding spots, and of _course_ Feliciano knew them, he bloody lived in the church. How stupid of him.

He decided to descend from the angel's room. Looking at his watch, he now knew the place was about to close, he only had six more minutes to walk around like an innocent tourist, while in reality heading for the closet he had used the night before. He would not wait as long as that time, however. Half an hour would suffice, the sun would still be up so there would be more light and he would have all the time to look for Feliciano.

He passed the English tourists again. They were still all around the statue of earlier, but now so close to the guide that Ludwig could not even see what they were observing. He decided to look at it himself later, when he would be alone.

After he locked himself into the closet, he waited patiently.

Fifteen minutes later, the church was silent and devoid of tourists. Half an hour after he had closed himself in the closet he heard the last guard do the last lap around the church, to control everything was in order and no one was left inside. Then, silence.

To be extra sure, Ludwig waited another ten minutes, and then left the dark dusty closet.

Once outside, he was greeted by the complete lack of sound that reigned in the church. Not a single person except him was present, the air missed the muffled sound of walking shoes, the whispers, the coughs of tourists and guards and the muttered prayers of the devoted.

All he could hear were his own breath and heartbeat. Silence reigned supreme, wrapping its arms around the German like a cool blanket.

After briefly contemplating the silence, Ludwig was surprised he did not really know where to begin his search. He decided to satisfy his tourist-like curiosity of the statue first, before starting.

The statue those English tourists were observing was in the direction of Feliciano's tower, under one of the great coloured windows. It was the only one in the general area, and while Ludwig neared it, he could not shake off the suspicion that it somehow seemed out of place.

The suspicion only grew when he noticed said statue did not have any basement. Definitely odd. He now wished he had listened to the tourist guide.

But the suspicion transformed into something completely else as soon as he stood directly in front of the small statue.

It was an angel. The toga it was wearing fluttered in nonexistent wind and with illusive motion, but the pose was stable: as if the angel had been running in one direction, but had suddenly stopped on his tracks and turned to his left so that the sculptor could copy him in that instant.

Ludwig was impressed by the liveliness impressed in the marble. He was no sculptor, but he knew skill when he observed art. Now he definitely wished he had listened to the tour guide.

Why was the statue here, of all places in the church? Why did it not have a basement?

His light-hearted observations were interrupted abruptly when his eyes landed on the statue's face.

His eyes widened, he took a step backwards. Then another one.

"No..." the word was but a mere whisper.

Between the strands of fluttering marble hair, he saw the face of Feliciano.

His expression was slightly surprised, his eyes looking up to the ceiling and his eyebrows imperceptibly turned upwards as his mouth started to form the expression of: "Oh".

Ludwig felt the floor beneath his feet wobble, so he leaned onto a column as to remain standing.

His mind was already trying to find explanations, but not a single one fit.

The most reasonable theory was that an unknown sculptor had met Feliciano as well, and had made a statue of him. This would not explain the lack of a basement, however.

Many other theories crowded his head, but none could explain all the oddities. Paradoxically, the most logical explanation was, at the same time, the most illogical as well, and he just could not accept it.

This was Feliciano. Not some copy, it was literally him.

And he must have frozen into stone while running, somehow.

It would explain the broken basement in his room, the thing he called bed. It would explain the lack of said basement where he was standing right now. It would explain why Feliciano had suddenly seemed in such a hurry, both times he had met him, when the dawn would draw near. It would explain why he had seen him only at night. It would explain why his eyes were hundreds of years old.

He looked at Feliciano's frozen form. From the direction of the fluttering hair, feathers and toga, he could deduce he had been running from his tower. But why look surprised at the ceiling, which he had observed and known for centuries? No, that was not right. Ludwig realized there were thin circular marks on the floor: someone, probably a guard, had rotated him, turned him 180 degrees around so he would face the centre of the nave. A more natural position for a statue, after all.

He had been running _to_ his tower, and had looked up at the windows, where undoubtedly the sun had risen and struck his running form, somehow freezing him into the marble Ludwig was now observing.

He reasoned further. This would also explain why Feliciano was an angel with no idea where to go: he was merely a statue, which just happened to have the form of an angel and had gained a conscience on its own. Or was it the other way around? Had he been a true angel, but then had he been punished for something?

Ludwig realized what he had just thought, and stopped right there.

What.

Just... what?!

This was ridiculous.

His brain, that had just formulated these deductions, retaliated against itself. It was not possible. Freezing into stone? And for what reason?! This was not some fantasy story, this was reality.

However... he inched closer and leaned to observe Feliciano's face. It really was his. "It cannot be a copy, right? No... it's too perfect..." he muttered to himself, frowning as he tried to wrap his head around the possibility.

His mind was running in circles by now. At one moment he almost believed it could be possible, one minute later he was banging a closed fist against his forehead, not believing how stupid he could possibly be.

The German groaned, massaging his temples and walking around in circles, before letting his arms dangle to his sides.

"...Well, I guess there is only one way out of this." He sighed, looking up at the stained glass window. The sun was almost down, judging from the colours. If he was right, he would have the answer in half an hour, or an hour at most.

So he sat down, in front of the statue, his back leaning against a tall pillar. God, how he wished he had brought a book with him right now. But the tiredness of the night before caught up to him, and he fell asleep.

Forty-five minutes later, an isolated, faint noise woke Ludwig up from his light sleep. He blinked, trying to discern in the dying sunlight where on Earth he was, before remembering. And then, the sound repeated itself again.

His eyes immediately found the statue in front of him. It was a soft cracking sound, similar to softly crumbling stone. Ludwig stood up, alarmed, afraid that the statue was somehow in danger and falling to pieces right in front of him, but he was surprised to find no cracks in the marble.

The scene he witnessed next was beyond surreal.

Soft dust fell from Feliciano's joints, as the faint cracking sound became faster and slightly louder. A marble finger twitched, releasing some dust. From there, it went very quickly. Rapidly, colour spread like a small explosion on Feliciano's skin, toga and hair. As soon as the colouring started, he started moving, almost in slow motion, but as soon as the colours had reached all the way to his toes and the tip of his hair, he moved quickly again, as if he had never stopped running in the first place. Hair, feathers and toga fluttered again in the momentum of his step.

"-Oh!"

He stopped running immediately, looking at him with big, scared eyes. "Ludwig!" he exclaimed, as if he'd been wanting to say that for hours.

Ludwig could not even register the fear in the angel's eyes, because he was in too much shock. The confirmation of something completely unnatural had just happened.

A statue.

Feliciano was a bloody living, breathing statue.

His head felt light, the floor suddenly slipped away from under his feet, and he just barely saw a glimpse of the tiled pavement quickly moving up to greet his face with a stony hello.

* * *

The trio made a big tour around the city, basically visiting the usual sights but accurately avoiding every museum due to Gilbert's allergy to them. The morning went by quickly, and halfway through the afternoon they decided to go see one last thing before going for a drink. So, last but not least and slightly dreaded by Antonio, Francis started bringing them towards the _Île de la Cité_. Antonio did not realize it, but he started sweating, and not because of the walk.

Francis and Gilbert had not stopped teasing Antonio the whole day about his little 'accident' in that church, so it was obvious that they wanted to go where it all had happened. "One day, I'm going to kill you both." He grumbled, sticking his hands deep in his pockets, as his two friends laughed like crows at his sides. Antonio sighed, knowing that he would just have to endure this.

The cathedral was enormous, and welcomed Antonio with the same chilly embrace of that night. And like always, it shone with greatness and beauty. Francis knew the church already, but Gilbert was so impressed he even forgot to tease the Spaniard for a couple of seconds.

They started walking around, avoiding the tourists.

"So, where were you again?" Gilbert chuckled softly, trying not to raise his voice too much.

Antonio pointed upwards. "Over there. There's a small metal hook, and that's where I was hung."  
"I don't see shit." Gilbert's eyes narrowed.

"That's because you're an albino, and your sight is all fucked up." Antonio bit back, a bit rougher than usual, he realized. He was nervous because he was back in this place, and he had been teased the whole day, he figured he could snap at them at least once.

"_Mon Dieu_, the both of you, don't swear in a church!" Francis slapped the back of their heads. "I can't see anything from down here either, let's go to the first story, where the balustrades are, ok?"

They went up, and leaned against the balustrade to look up towards the ceiling.  
"Over there, see?" Antonio pointed. And while Francis and Gilbert were commenting and wondering how in the heavens someone could have put a rope all the way up there, Antonio's gaze slipped downwards, towards the opposite balcony, towards what really interested him at the moment. The central nave of Notre Dame divided them, but the Spaniard saw it clearly, and felt a chill run down his spine.

The statue.

That bizarre statue that took up almost all the space of the balcony.

It was gone.

He felt his insides knot themselves. What if the guard was right? What if there really was a spirit, and it dwelled in that statue? The Spaniard groaned, slapping his forehead. Of course not. Spirits did not exist.

Antonio pushed himself away from the balustrade and started running towards the opposite one, Francis and Gilbert letting out exclamations of surprise at his sudden dash.

Antonio managed to catch the attention of many onlookers that way, mostly because he bumped into the many tourists, but he did not care. He came to a skidding halt at the balcony where the statue had been the day before, and indeed, it was empty. No statue, not even its ugly broken basement. Instead, somebody had left a note, taped to the balustrade. Antonio looked around, as if by doing so he would be able to catch the guy who left it, but of course, the only thing he saw was bewildered and muttering tourists. He shrugged, turning and picking up the note with one hand.

It was a perfectly normal note, a simple page torn from a notebook. There was a short English message, written in sloppy handwriting:

_To the drunk idiot_

_Be here tonight_

_After 20.00_

Under those few words, a simple smiley with pointy horns had been drawn.

He ripped the note away from the tape sticking it to the balustrade, and he felt a cold hand squeeze his heart. Who the hell had written this note? Who had moved the statue? Had it been the guards? It did not seem likely, but then again, who else? The only person to have known he had been dead drunk that night was the same person who had pulled that prank on him. But how could he have known he had been here, talking to the statue, and later move said statue before leaving a sticky note for him to find? This prankster must have been very dedicated to his job to have the will to create such a complicated prank, and he was probably a stalker too.

"So you _do_ have a new lover!" Francis suddenly cooed behind his shoulder, making Antonio jump.

"Gah! What? No!" He crumpled the note in his hand and hid it behind his back while turning to face his blond friend. He realised at what volume he was speaking and lowered his voice. "No, a lover? Yeah, right!"

"Suuuuuure. Who is she? Or is it a he?" Gilbert chimed in with the teasing, purring.

"Stop it, guys! There is nobody, it's just a note somebody, I bet some tourist left to a nobody. See?" He took out the crumpled paper and showed it to them. "It's not addressed to me. It does not say 'Antonio' anywhere."

"Just how many 'drunk idiots' do you think there are around here?" Francis scratched his stubbly chin, musing.

Antonio felt surrounded. He had to find a diversion. He had to distract them, otherwise they would go on for the whole day again. He smiled, stuffing the note in his pocket. "Soon there's going to be three, if you follow me outside for a drink."

Gilbert immediately fell for it. "I like your thinking, Toni! I'm tired of sightseeing anyway." And he threw an arm over the Spaniard's shoulder, as they headed for the six entrance doors of Notre Dame.

Francis did not fall for it, but decided to let it slide anyway, and followed them outside.

Antonio sighed, feeling like he had dodged a bullet. However, the crumpled note in his pocket felt heavy like a stone and it burned like molten lead.

He briefly shot back a glance at the cathedral, and he knew he would be there again that night.

* * *

**...That's all, folks!**

**What can I say, University life sucked out all inspiration for me for MONTHS. Too many months. And not only in writing, but in everything, sadly enough: Writing, drawing, imagining, and my creativity in general. However, as I said before, I'm not leaving this unfinished, I know what I want to write and how I want it to end, so this story will be continued!**

**I hope to see you all next time,**

**Ciao!**

**...**

**_Trés bien :_**_ (French) Very well._


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